I am me, plain and simple. Anyone who knows me, knows I'm complicated. My life is full of drama, and for some reason, people want to hear about it. I'm a writer at heart and a mama by choice. I love everything music. I dislike heartache, though there's plenty to go around. I can't be anyone but myself, and not everyone likes that, but I am who I am...
Well, it's official. I have 2 full weeks with almost no work scheduled that I can devote entirely to my new outline...and to Christmas, of course.
I have a pretty interesting lineup for the week of Christmas, visiting, Church, presents, and the like, but only 1 day of work scheduled (graveyard at the group home). School's out until "next year" (hahahaha)and that leaves plenty of hours in the day for writing...I hope.
I made a commitment to my therapy group to finish my outline by Christmas and have at least 5k written on the story itself by the time we meet again at the first of the year, so I need to get my butt in gear. The commitments we make in group are very important to our treatment and I feel strongly about completing them. I hope to exceed my commitment this time around and have at least 20k pumped out, but I decided to give myself a little cushion of safety (I know, I'm a wimp).
Anybody got fun Christmas plans or writerly angst going on this Holiday season?
I haven't had one in a while and I had been lulled into a sense of security that I had stopped having them.
I. Am. An. Idiot.
This migraine knocked me on my ass for the better part of 3 days, putting a serious crimp in my outlining plans. I got almost nothing written because I couldn't look at a computer screen all weekend.
The weekend was not a total bust, just a total writing bust.
The roommate and I baked 360 bite sized sugar cookies on Sunday. Yes, 360. 30 dozen. Bite sized tiny little cookies to give as Christmas gifts. And that doesn't include the 2 or 3 dozen regular sized cookies or the 4 giant cookies that we made with the extra dough that was left when we just couldn't stand to cut out any more cookies.
It was a 5 1/2 hour process that left me exhausted and more than a little sick to my stomach. We ended the evening eating leftover pork and watching The Bucket List, while working on Christmas craft projects.
(And may I say that I totally and completely LOVED The Bucket List? Totally made me cry)
It was a pretty wasted weekend for writing, but otherwise a pretty productive one. We're almost finished with our one Christmas craft project and well into the other, while completing various Christmas tasks. I'd say it was an ok weekend.
*Memo to me* Replace digital voice recorder that was stolen a year ago in order to prepare for things like nasty migraines and carsickness. (duh).
There's a story nagging at the back of my brain, characters whispering in my ear. Unlike with Shifting Destinies, I don't think this one will be forced. I think that this story will come easier, flow better than the last. I'm excited to begin outlining and then writing. I haven't written anything novel-wise since NaNo ended (I've written several new poems) and I'm excited to start up again.
I've been giving a lot of thought to the question "why do you want to be a writer?" I am asked this question a lot usually preceded by things like "it's not going to make you any money." and "you can't possibly hope to make a living by writing!"
So, why am I so determined to be a writer? I've thought a lot about how and when I decided to be a writer and I've determined that it was my Senior year of High School when I realized that I could possibly make it as a writer.
I've always written. I mean, since I was old enough to know how to hold a crayon I was making up stories, first in pictures then in words when I learned them. I started writing poetry when I was in 3rd grade and short stories in 4th. I continued writing, mostly poetry, all through school up to my senior year when I took Senior level Creative Writing.
My creative writing teacher said I had talent, I won an award for my two short stories that I wrote that semester, so obviously other people thought I was talented. My poetry has won several awards, not to toot my own horn, so indeed there must be some shred of talent somewhere within this lowly creature which is me, but of course I couldn't really believe it.
But I didn't set out to be a writer. I got into college and declared my major in Special Education. That was an epic fail after my first year, so I decided to become an English teacher, maybe literature. In my first English class of the semester (a writing class) yet another teacher told me that I had talent. I still didn't really believe it of myself, but she convinced me to change my major to a Creative Writing emphasis.
I did it.
Then came the semester of disaster, where I was so sick throughout the semester that I flunked everything and racked up some incredibly impressive dollar amounts in medical bills. I ended up dropping out so I could work to pay off those debts and somewhere along the way I started writing just for the sheer enjoyment of writing and I found that I enjoyed it a lot more than writing for classes.
I made the decision to pay off my bills and enroll at another school that offered an ASL (American Sign Language) interpreting degree and license. Interpreting would give me the opportunity to make my own hours, choose my clients and jobs, make a decent amount of money, and leave me plenty of time for writing. It was perfect.
And so here we come back to the present. I am still paying off medical bills and other debts, considering filing for bankruptcy, and still hoping to go back to school, possibly while working at least part time (working full time and going to school was what started the whole mess of me being so sick, so I'm thinking a repeat would not be a good idea).
I stopped writing for a while because I was really depressed about my life and where I stood and everything just felt hopeless, but I'm back to writing at least a little every day. I want to succeed, and I know I can't succeed by sitting on my butt feeling sorry for myself.
Deciding to become a writer was a long and confusing process that I didn't even know was happening at times. I still sometimes wonder why I would ever want to be in this business, reading stories of trial and heartache and struggle on various blogs. But there are also stories of success and triumph that warm my heart and bolster my resolve. I want to do this. Not for money or fame (though those could be nice) but for the joy of writing thigns that touch people's lives and hearts.
A long way of getting to the point, but there it is.
I think that Adam was the one who wanted to hear my story of wanting to become a writer, so here it is Adam!