I’m torn between wanting to tell the world that I’m going to do this writing challenge and keeping it to myself. I figure most will entirely skip over my blog posts on Facebook and twitter as it doesn’t directly involve them.
The thing about this writing challenge is that I’m not doing it to create the great American novel. Hell, I’m not doing it to create a sub-par novel. I’m doing it because I need to prove to myself that I can. That day after day I can put in the time and effort into an act that I love and in the end have a tangible finished product; albeit quite flawed and full of the wrong tense. I don’t expect that I’ll be able to sell this book, if I do end up publishing it, for a long while. Writing is years of toil, editing out bits that you love, getting red pen on your heart wrenching words.
In all honesty, I’m scared of the possibility of committing myself to writing. To spending all this time on something and having it judged harshly. Even if I finish, I’m not sure I could have people read it. There are harsh critics of Austen and Tolstoy. Gaiman and King. How can I start? When I was writing fan-fiction I knew it would never be serious. How could it be when it is based on another writers imaginary world. I didn’t have to worry about how ludicrous the plot was. Stephanie Meyer had already outdone me. So to the three people who actually read this. Don’t judge me too harshly. I’m saying I’ll try my best to do this. But no promises on whether the pages will see the light of day.
So now I’ll leave you with my mantra for getting through the next month or so. Take it away tumblr-ed Ira Glass.
The Megnacarta 