There I go, not updating again when I didn’t even finish my post from last time! If you’ll remember (or just scroll down to the previous entry) I had ended with a quote from something I’d written when I was fifteen. When I first went back to read this journal about five years later, the summer before my senior year of college, I think I recognized that entry as a defining point in my life as a writer. Because as I recall, I did not “write my heart out” that summer. As I recall, it was actually long time before I wrote anything substantial again, outside of a class assignment. As I pointed out so astutely eight years ago, something had changed about writing for me. I was hypercritical of everything, and I only saw the flaws. When I was a child, I could fill notebook after notebook of scribbled stories that made no sense, paying absolutely no attention to grammar or spelling. I was just getting those words on the page as quickly as they came to me, and they were always coming.

Needless to say, it isn’t like that for me now. I have always prized quality over quantity, and prefer books and stories with sparse but evocative language. Such is my style, which is why I write short-shorts and prose poetry and novellas. However, there is something to be said of banging out a certain number of words per day, whether or not they’re complete crap. To this day, I cannot understand how some people do it. Am I insanely jealous? Absolutely. Even if their writing isn’t that great? You bet. I’ve attempted NaNoWriMo 3 times in my life. Once was in 2002 when I was fifteen. I got about five pages into my story before I lost interest. The second was in 2009 when I was twenty-two. I believe I lost interest after two pages, which was rather pathetic, although that story did wind up being the short I published in Rougarou last fall. The third time is still ongoing this month (I was busy last November) and while I’m doing okay, it has still been a disappointing exercise for me. The month is almost over, and I’m currently sitting at around 11,750 words. Compared to my first two attempts, I suppose this is an accomplishment. However, I promised myself 1,000 words a day, and that clearly hasn’t quite been happening. Well, I guess change doesn’t happen overnight. Something I can perhaps take pride in: The longest continuous work I’d ever written was around 16,000 words, for some horrible sci-fi comedy I wrote when I was 10-11. Sad, right? Yes, but I’ve officially surpassed that now with this current story as I already had 5,500 words written before now. Add that to the 11,000+ and perhaps I really am capable of finishing a full-length novel someday. Small victory, but I shall take it. Another thing to take into account is that I’ve actually written 15,000+ words this month, because I’ve been working on another story at the same time. Let’s not even get into how many words I wrote in January and February. Math is no longer my forte.

But my point is, regardless of whether I’ve reached my goals, things might finally changing around here.