It’s the half way mark for the week and I’m feeling rather wobbly. I’ve been trying to work on my novel and I’ve made some progress but it’s shaping up to be an 8-10 hour writing marathon both Friday AND Sunday to catch up. Yep. This is how I roll.
I haven’t been taking any classes or writing workshops but I have been reading the magazines and following every writing blog I can find. And do you know what? I’m taken aback by my previous attempts at a novel. Maybe it was easier to try because I had no idea low little I knew about the process. I can understand why it didn’t work though. I need more than an idea and some kick ass character names.
The burden of what I’m beginning to learn is daunting because for every topic I’m discovering is a web of information, detail, advice, etc. that I really should pay attention to and add to my meagre writer’s toolbox. I thought you either are born a writer or you don’t. Now I see we all have the ability but some have the aptitude to understand the process, bend the rules to accommodate style and voice while others struggle with expressing themselves. It’s like math- we all can do it but some are limited to basic arithmetic and others go on to number-based careers.
As I’m learning more about the process and work toward developing my technical skills, I’m getting a little nervous. I know the change that will occur is good change. Hopefully the quality of my work will improve and I’ll be able to develop more complex, interesting pieces but this new knowledge has made me more self-conscious. Ironic considering I’m posting weekly short stories for the entire world to read. What was I thinking?
I kind of feel like I’m at the gawky, brace-faced, pimply 13 year old (basically what I was in grade 6, 7, and 8) stage of my writing. What I’ve been doing before now had a flat, childish feel; it was naive and creative but there was no depth. Now I’m straddling the world between childhood comfort and familiarity and the scary adult world of professionalism, confidence, and complexity. It’s daunting. I have no idea what kind of writer I’m going to turn into. Will I be happy with the end result? When will I start to feel like a writer that’s worthy of her readers?
The biggest question swirling around my brain is do I have what it takes? I don’t know. I like to think I do but then I also was convinced I was the next Albert Einstein. Yeah. That didn’t happen.
So, for now I’ll keep at my independent learning, try to sneak in a workshop here and there, possibly even a writing course, and keep plugging away at my novels and short stories.