Nanoprep 2023 Day 16: Writing isn't Hard
By Robin de Voh on 2023-10-23
Writing isn't hard for me. When I sit down and have the intent, time, and focus, I manage to crank out a decent amount of words every time, and usually they're not complete horse shit either. During these October weeks, I churn out idea after idea, and even if they're not the most original, there's usually something in there that makes them work. But they're generally unfinished, too short, not detailed enough, or simply rushed.
And then I never get back to them to fix them.
So the problem isn't the writing. The problem is fucking doing it. I just wrote 'when I sit down', but that really should say 'if I sit down'. Because that's my problem. October? Sure, I'll write a few stories. I'll call myself a writer. I'll rush to put words down, day after day, and sling 'em online, and call it done for the remaining 11 months of the year.
What the hell happened to me.
I know that should probably end in a question mark, but I'm pissed off at myself to the point where it's no longer a question I'm asking, it's a statement. There is something that happened to me, and I haven't really ever examined it. So let's.
Why did I start writing these in October of 2015? Well, I'd just broken up with my then-girlfriend of 5ish years. And during those years I'd written a little, but far less than before. Was that her fault? Categorically no. I won't ever blame another for my own choices, and not focusing on writing was my choice. She actually tried to motivate me to do it, even suggesting we could do writing hours together, where we'd both write something. We did that twice before I bailed.
But after that relationship, I had a thought process going: who am I? I remember sort of who I was before -- but I'm not that anymore. And I definitely remember who I was during -- but I can't be that anymore either. So I figured I needed to decide what I wanted to be based on who I was before and during. Who I'd be after.
I've never admitted it, but it was a pretty confusing and traumatic time. The half year after doubly so, for a multitude of unrelated reasons, some of which far worse. But in a very short time I changed significantly, during a period in which I already wasn't sure who I was supposed to be.
But a writer -- that I was. Right? I knew that. I think. Yeah, I decided. I'd do NaNoWriMo, write a novel in November, and I'd use October to practice for it. I finished 2 NaNoWriMo novels in the years after.
I stopped doing NaNoWriMo 3 years ago. I didn't do October writing last year.
Do you know how many words of fiction I wrote in the past 2 years I wasn't told to write? None. No words at all written just because I wanted to.
I had ideas, I had time, I could have easily made myself focus.
But I just didn't do it.
And now I'm sitting here, already having missed 2 days of this year's attempt. It's just 20 days! But I still find it difficult to motivate myself to keep going. The first 10 days was easy enough, because it'd been 2 years and I had ideas enough, but at the first hurdle -- the first day where I simply didn't have an idea I felt would work -- I bailed.
Like a child who no longer wants the ice cream he cried about for so long.
Obstinate and childish.
I am a writer. I've been a writer since I was 10, when I wrote my first multi-chapter story that was completely made up. I know in my heart of hearts that I am.
So why can't I just write?
I want to do world-building for Hugo Vickers, then start rewriting and reworking the stories to fit that shared narrative. I want to edit 20 of my favorite short stories into a collection. I want to rework some of the Jerry/Coffee Saga stories to fit together better and fix plot holes and inconsistencies that have cropped up over the many years of working on them.
I have ideas, I promise. Ideas I care about.
But I have, seemingly, no real intent to just sit down, shut up, and write.
Not if it's not October.
I want to fix this, but I can't do it with 20 days of writing in October. I can't fix it by setting a challenge by which I'd have to write and post a story a month. I dislike arbitrary ideas like that, not rationally, but emotionally, and I will definitely work against them after a few tries.
I don't think the October thing is me... Not anymore.
I think it's no longer enabling me to write. I think I'm caught in it.
I think I'm over it.
8 years ago, I wasn't sure who I was. I wasn't sure what I wanted and how I wanted to get the things I wanted. But I'm different now. I do know who I am, better than ever, and I think I want to write a different way. So having written these 144 stories since 2015 -- this one included -- has certainly helped me. I've written different genres, I've created some characters I'd love to do more with, and I've been able to get feedback (positive and ... constructive) throughout.
More than anything, it has cemented my belief that I can do this and should get more serious about it.
This isn't me deciding to write less. This is me deciding to write better. And probably more.
Because I am a writer.
And I just have to learn to write again.