Hello, fellow bloggers, writers, and possible friends. I am on an exciting journey and am finding myself awake late at night again, eager to share my success with someone, but realize I’m all alone in my crazy writing brain. I haven’t written a blog post in months and feel pretty guilty about it, but I know people weren’t sitting behind their computer twiddling their thumbs in anticipation for me to drop the next sickest blog post of the millennium, so I guess I can have my peace with deciding to post something now.
In April, an idea was planted in my head like a seed. I had been working on some other writings and found myself mostly writing blog posts and finding any exercises and inspiration I could get my hands on. I tried finding my fulfillment in others things, but ended up losing interest pretty quickly and then my idea first dawned on me. So, of course, I got way too eager about the whole thing and decided to sit down and start writing (after mulling it over in my brain for a couple of weeks), and felt that I had lost my momentum after getting more than halfway through with my story. What was the point? Where was I going with all of this?
I got incredibly discouraged. I couldn’t stop thinking about what to do next. It’s a great idea. I can’t let it go to waste. I’ve been searching each book in the genre and category and can’t seem to find anything that mirrors my idea, but it falls right in with something I would pick up myself. How can I turn this into something? What do I have that works? What’s not working? Then, aha! I will now change pretty much the entire flow, style, and main plot of the story but only keeping my original seeded idea. I gave birth to something real. Something that has actual potential. Now I need to do research and read like crazy. I must become this novel and not let it be taken away by that darn writer’s block.
So I write. I write for hours. I write for days. Then it became weeks. Now I’m on months of writing. I’m revising, changing, leaving things that don’t fit just to get this story out. I need to figure out where it goes. What’s going to happen? Why are my characters worth caring about? How much depth do I need to make this interesting? I finally finish my story and I lay back on my bed, feeling accomplished and relieved. Then I look over my work again one final time and realize, oh, god, all I wrote was a detailed outline. What was I thinking? A first time writer actually finishing something worth reading after just a couple of months? Yeah, right.
Now I’m actually making storyboards, writing synopsises, pumping more life and depth into these characters to not allow all my hard work to go to waste. I still have something here. I’m not quitting on you! You will become something. You will blossom. You will live!
So yeah, that’s what I’ve been up to. I’ve been learning so much. I’m completely consumed and have this satisfaction inside that I hadn’t realized I was missing. I’m no longer afraid to say I’m a writer. It seems to be the only thing that makes sense for me, which is absolutely terrifying as much as it is relieving.
Happy writing, ya’ll.