Not too long ago, I came out as a writer. That is I declared myself a writer based on the facts that I write and I like to write. I let go of the belief that one need be published to hold the title of ‘writer’. Weeks later, I find myself questioning my desire to call myself a writer.
As days pass and life fills my time with things that do not include writing, I feel less like a writer. Instead, the respect I have for those devoted to writing and sharing grows.
As I work at my desk, pulling up my blog during a lull in the workload, I lack motivation. Instead, the respect I have for those motivated to write on a daily basis grows.
How does one keep up the pace?
November is big within the aspiring writers’ community because of National Novel Writing Month, when one is encourage to write a novel in thirty days by committing to write a total of 50,000 words (over 1,500 words a day) in November.
I am unable to write every day, so the thought of having to write over 1,500 words a day is frightening. Though I suppose, if I sat down and wrote a conversation with myself, the challenge would be more about stopping at 1,500 words.
I have heard the advice, and I continue to hear the advice. Still, I do not write every day, there is no notebook next to my bed, and – though I start journals, I inadvertently put the journal down somewhere that gets covered up with bills, permission slips, junk mail, etc.
This self-given title of ‘writer’ is hard to manage.
Monday through Friday, my alarm goes off and I get out of bed. I get the kids ready for school, feed the dogs and get myself ready for work. The day moves along, and I move along with the day, while doing chores, my paid job, carpooling and sundry other things.
The day to day tasks are accomplished in such an auto-pilot kind of way, that I feel I could do it all blindfolded. Yet writing … To me, writing is like exercising. Writing takes work. Writing takes commitment. Writing takes discipline. In fact, like exercise, writing takes inspiration and motivation.
Perhaps there is not a notebook and pen next to my bed, because no one sees my journal. Those thoughts captured on paper tend to stay bound by a spiral wire. What is the point, if no one sees what I write? If I write to be read, where is the motivation? However, thoughts captured on my computer screen are easily sent to infinity and beyond by way of the blogosphere. Once in the blogosphere, clicks take place, readers appear and stats increase. Houston, we have motivation!
Houston, fear not! For we have inspiration, too. Every day I am inspired by the world around me. I am inspired by the news, the weather, the writings of others and the life of my family. (And, let’s not forget the inspiration of the voices in my head!) The stories exist. The tales are growing. Yet, the posts are fewer and farther between.
The sun sets on another day within the work week. The boys are tucked in bed, and the house is still. Now time exists for me. Time seems to pass slowly and quietly, allowing me the opportunity to gather my thoughts for writing. As the thoughts are gathered, I feel the motivation slipping away in the darkness. Perhaps I will write tomorrow night, I think to myself. I’m tired.
Funny thing about being a writer, you have to write. I need to work on that part.