In January of this year, I wrote four essays in two weeks, along with some journalism assignments, totaling some 10,000 words. I posted about how I never wanted to write another word again. Later that day, I posted the first bit about how Fae and I were starting to work on The Book.
The truth is that I can’t live without writing. I have been doing it as long as I remember. I even enjoy writing essays and journalism assignments (except when I procrastinate too much). I love words. I love communicating. I love creating an image with words.
In 2009, I started to take my writing seriously. Fae and I wrote over 50,000 words of The Book. We even attempted NaNoWriMo (we failed though… we got maybe 5,000 words in November). I started blogging regularly, something I greatly enjoy. This time last year, the only person who read my blog was Fae. Over the summer I managed to post nearly every weekday. I started to feel my way through this blogosphere, and where I wanted to be in it. I still have a lot to think about, and big plans for this blog. But the point is that I was writing. All the time. And in writing, as in all things, practice makes perfect, right? I’m learning how to write the stories that make up my own life.
I also started to write some other things. Things I never thought I’d write. Like right now I’m working on a series of monologues.
I’m learning how to think like a writer. How to be serious about this, as a possible future. How to grow as a writer. I have a long way to go, but I am really loving it so far.