Unexpected Relief
I haven't written in awhile, have I?
Actually, that's not accurate. I haven't blogged much in awhile. However, I've been writing my little heart out for two weeks now. For the first time I joined NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). It's basically a month long writing challenge that people all over the world take, similar to joining a 30 day weight loss challenge with a bunch of friends.
The goal? Write a novel from start to finish during the month of November. The rules? It has to be fiction, and it has to be at least 50,000 words.
I've known about it before, but I've never thought I could do it. Seriously, who planned this thing for the month of November??? The only worse month would be December itself. Plus, I tend to get stuck when I'm writing and pressure only makes it worse. This year didn't seem to be any more auspicious for tackling a month-long novel writing frenzy. My plate is fully loaded between kids, my church assignment, & the fact that I'm training for a marathon. (Wait . . . why am I tackling a marathon and a novel at the same time?) But the fact is, I have been missing my fiction writing. Really, really missing it. And no matter how often I tried to tell myself to just sit down and write, I always felt guilty about doing it when there is so much other stuff that needs to be done. Writing fiction is something I do mostly for myself, after all. I felt selfish sitting down to write when there were dishes to be done and laundry to be folded-- and there are always dishes to be washed and laundry piles waiting to be folded around here.
But just before the start of November, Terence made a comment that kind of helped me let go of the guilt when it comes to writing. He reassured me that he doesn't mind at all when I let chores go undone and sit down to write because he sees my writing as "lightning in a bottle," as he termed it. It's our potential lottery ticket, the possibility that at some point I could write a book that might just take off and make us, well, not rich, but at least able to replace the van when it croaks. That might just be a fantasy, but that's how Terence sees it. My writing is helping to support us, either now or in the future.
Now I'm more pessimistic than Terence. I don't think it's likely I'm going to write a bestseller. But it was still the permission I needed to continue working on my writing, that it's not just being selfish for me to do so.
The odd thing was what taking the NaNoWriMo plunge has done for my anxiety and stress. You'd think it would get worse, but rather, it's been much, much better. I had to plan out pretty carefully how I was going to accomplish this. So I have to write a minimum of 1,667 a day Monday through Friday and about 3,300 words on Saturday (I'm taking Sundays off). My writing time is officially about noon-2pm, when S is usually napping. (If she's not napping, she's usually perfectly willing to be entertained by Netflix.) And no matter what, no matter how much I don't feel like it, I sit my behind down in the chair and force my way through those 1,600 words, no matter how lame they seem on the page. (Nobody said they had to be 50,000 words of prize literature material, after all.) As one blogger put it, this not even my first draft of a novel. It's my zero draft, so it's OK if it's going to need some heavy revising later. Anyway, for whatever reason, once my writing is done for the day, I have more energy to tackle all the other stuff I have to do. I still have a lot on my plate-- and a lot of things go undone-- but we're not living in complete chaos, and I'm FAR less anxious about things. I guess taking these two hours a day to do something that I love and that is just such a part of me leaves me better able to focus on my husband, my children, and my responsibilities the rest of the day.
Who knew?
(Just for the record, I'm at 26,729 words. On the downward slope, baby! Yeah!!!)
Actually, that's not accurate. I haven't blogged much in awhile. However, I've been writing my little heart out for two weeks now. For the first time I joined NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). It's basically a month long writing challenge that people all over the world take, similar to joining a 30 day weight loss challenge with a bunch of friends.
The goal? Write a novel from start to finish during the month of November. The rules? It has to be fiction, and it has to be at least 50,000 words.
I've known about it before, but I've never thought I could do it. Seriously, who planned this thing for the month of November??? The only worse month would be December itself. Plus, I tend to get stuck when I'm writing and pressure only makes it worse. This year didn't seem to be any more auspicious for tackling a month-long novel writing frenzy. My plate is fully loaded between kids, my church assignment, & the fact that I'm training for a marathon. (Wait . . . why am I tackling a marathon and a novel at the same time?) But the fact is, I have been missing my fiction writing. Really, really missing it. And no matter how often I tried to tell myself to just sit down and write, I always felt guilty about doing it when there is so much other stuff that needs to be done. Writing fiction is something I do mostly for myself, after all. I felt selfish sitting down to write when there were dishes to be done and laundry to be folded-- and there are always dishes to be washed and laundry piles waiting to be folded around here.
But just before the start of November, Terence made a comment that kind of helped me let go of the guilt when it comes to writing. He reassured me that he doesn't mind at all when I let chores go undone and sit down to write because he sees my writing as "lightning in a bottle," as he termed it. It's our potential lottery ticket, the possibility that at some point I could write a book that might just take off and make us, well, not rich, but at least able to replace the van when it croaks. That might just be a fantasy, but that's how Terence sees it. My writing is helping to support us, either now or in the future.
Now I'm more pessimistic than Terence. I don't think it's likely I'm going to write a bestseller. But it was still the permission I needed to continue working on my writing, that it's not just being selfish for me to do so.
The odd thing was what taking the NaNoWriMo plunge has done for my anxiety and stress. You'd think it would get worse, but rather, it's been much, much better. I had to plan out pretty carefully how I was going to accomplish this. So I have to write a minimum of 1,667 a day Monday through Friday and about 3,300 words on Saturday (I'm taking Sundays off). My writing time is officially about noon-2pm, when S is usually napping. (If she's not napping, she's usually perfectly willing to be entertained by Netflix.) And no matter what, no matter how much I don't feel like it, I sit my behind down in the chair and force my way through those 1,600 words, no matter how lame they seem on the page. (Nobody said they had to be 50,000 words of prize literature material, after all.) As one blogger put it, this not even my first draft of a novel. It's my zero draft, so it's OK if it's going to need some heavy revising later. Anyway, for whatever reason, once my writing is done for the day, I have more energy to tackle all the other stuff I have to do. I still have a lot on my plate-- and a lot of things go undone-- but we're not living in complete chaos, and I'm FAR less anxious about things. I guess taking these two hours a day to do something that I love and that is just such a part of me leaves me better able to focus on my husband, my children, and my responsibilities the rest of the day.
Who knew?
(Just for the record, I'm at 26,729 words. On the downward slope, baby! Yeah!!!)
Comments
Way to go, Heidi!