Real Writing

Do you ever feel the need to stretch your legs? Do you ever just feel like you need to find more space? You need to go out and see scenery, walk on paths, and hear animals. Writing is like that for me — real writing anyway.

I do a lot of writing; it's kinda my job. I write notes for students. I write emails to parents and others. I type up various slabs of information.

However, free writing is freeing. Now, I'm not just talking about my blabby journal entries and whatnot. Those are nice enough, but it's like a stroll through the mall: stimulating, fun for a time, but eventually noisy and cluttered.

Writing stories: that's the freedom. That's the stroll through the woods or a game in the stream. That's the snowball fight or climbing a tree. That's catching fireflies and sitting near a fire. I need it. I need more of it. I need so much more of it.

I think it's a common phenomenon to fear what we most desire. What if it's not as satisfying as I thought it would be? What if I'm not as good as I hoped? What if there are more obstacles than I originally anticipated? What if, what if, what if.

I don't know what your dream is. I don't know what your passions are, so I don't know if you understand this syndrome, but I always want to write. Obviously, I constipate myself and write far too rarely, but I always want to write. Stories! I've ranted so many times about all the stories just vying to get out! Why? Why are there so many stories? I assumed that everybody has one-thousand and one stories — but maybe that's just because I have one-thousand-and-one stories.

I'm edging closer to establishing some habit, some writing schedule. Or maybe I should just go crackle-brain crazy and write at all hours of the night and day. I have stayed up moronically late on so many occasions; I could stay up just as late to write!

Ah, but my bad habits: if not for those nasty critters, I would have written a hundred books already. 2000 words a day says the man. Write with the door closed says the man.

In my anxiousness to get support, I opened all the doors. It's very drafty now. I definitely don't spurn the support, but King is right when he says first draft keeps the doors closed.

I gotta: I gotta whiplash it all down and move on. It wouldn't be that hard. I just need to revisit where the heck I am with Meadowvale, figure out what the next chapter is supposed to be.

They're waiting for me: Werbel and Allison, Xeif and Zandra, Michael, the elementals, and all of them. They're waiting so patiently, and I've just been a nervous lout. 2000 words per day, eh? I could have Meadowvale done in a month and his sequel by 2019 probably. That seems both so near and so far.

It is about time.

About time I tell you.