There is no excuse and I’m not about to offer one. Let’s just say it was a period of reflection and out and out laziness. I got over the flu and finished my winter semester courses and I just kind of shut down.
I love writing, I really do. I had been gung ho for more than a year and all of a sudden the fire dwindled. I don’t know why or how. Luckily it didn’t go out. I was still getting ideas and have them safely tucked away in an idea journal I have, I just couldn’t commit to writing them out.
My summer course that I had signed up for was cancelled and without the impetus of having to write for a course I just sort of shut down.
To be honest, I was terrified. I’ve had a couple of rejections and the self doubt settled in. The little voice was back. You’re not good enough and you never will be. No one wants to read your tripe. No one is interested. Nothing you do is original. You have no voice. Who cares anyway? Yada Yada Yada.
Well, I’ve bludgeoned the little guy. He won’t bother me again.
I’ve said it before…I write for myself and my own entertainment. Plain and simple. Case closed!!!!!
I was scared, really scared. I knew I was coming up on a precipice and I put the brakes on, doing my damndest not to go over. I enjoy writing short stories and they’re still there and I’ll still write them. However, my dream was always to be a novelist. No, I don’t want to be the a novelist, I want to be the next great novelist!
The fear of failure is paralyzing. It’s been my dream for as long as I can remember. It’s been with me for as long as I could read. I’m not going to say how long it’s been, let’s just say it’s been decades!
I have entire novels written in my head. Some have been with me since my teenage years. They are stories and characters that I love and cherish. Every time I’ve ever tried to bring them to life they always come out flat and one dimensional.
I’m just not ready to tell those stories.
A couple of weekends ago, Brent and I were off on one of our drives. We both enjoy exploring, heading out on a car ride, often without a destination in mind. We happened to be driving down Lake Street – a street I drive at least every weekday morning and we passed a shop I’ve passed by a thousand times. By the time we hit the service road to the highway (two minutes max) I had an idea for a story. By the time we hit Beamsville it had taken on a life of it’s own.
For the last couple of weeks it’s been brewing and stewing inside my little noggin. I’ve done a bunch of research on the internet and last weekend Brent was kind enough to support my madness and we spent a few hours touring the area it takes place. We both took a ton of pictures and I made my little notes on my impressions of the area.
Today I began the process of writing it down. It just flowed from my fingertips. I’ve just put my toe in the water…600 words in. But it’s there and it’s solid. Only another 120,00 to go :).
This one I can do. It’s not a story I’ve lived and breathed for forever. It’s not yet one of my “children”. It’s a story and I’m just telling its tale.
To use a relatively current colloquialism, I’m back bitches!
Hate it, love it, I honestly don’t care. I’m writing, doing what I love and nothing is going to stop me now!