It's over and I'm glad, but I'm also glad I did it. It made me realize what might be possible in my "real" writing (this is fake, right?)--that I can make myself write something every day--even when I think I can't, even when I don't want to, even when the thought of sitting in front of the computer for even two seconds makes me want to cry, I can write anyway. (Now, whether that's useful knowledge or not--and whether what I'm likely to produce under that kind of duress is really worthwhile or not is a whole other question and one for a time when I'm not so tired and cranky.)
See, I've always meant to be the kind of writer who writes every day. I've read expert after expert who swears daily (or at least very regular) writing is key to your development as a writer--Natalie Goldberg, Julia Cameron, Anne Lamott. Shoot, even Mr. High School used to tell me, "I think you'd be so much better off if you just wrote a little every day--ten or fifteen minutes. It would be good for you."
But I've never been able to manage it for any length of time. No matter how much time I spend on the pep talks and the "Just do it" speeches in my head, I spend just as much time talking myself out of it, "There isn't time. You're too tired. You don't have anything to say. You're not in the mood." It's always something.
For NaBloPoMo, maybe because "someone" was looking over my shoulder, I didn't let any of those somethings get in the way of writing every single day (writing crap some days, maybe even most days, but writing something). Now I know that not only can it be done, I can do it.
Wrong, Wrong, Wrong
9 hours ago