November 1st marks the dreaded month long grueling spartan race known as NaNoWriMo. National Novel Writing Month. The purpose, is to put together a novel in a month. A few weeks back I decided I was in a good place to attempt the challenge I have only recently even found out about.
I have been blogging for a little over a year. To be exact, I have been writing for 1 year 2 months 21 days
or 14 months 21 days
or 63 weeks 6 days
or 447 days
or 10,728 hours
or 643,680 minutes
or 38,620,800 seconds.
But who is counting? Clearly not me. In that time, I have gone from silly to serious about my writing. They say ten thousand hours is required to master a practice. I am proud to say I have finally figured out which there, their, they’re to use in a sentence.
Talk about progress.
So, for the past 38,620,800 (I am sure it is much higher now, as I continue my mastery of word-slinging) I have done a whole lot of writing. At the beginning, I was publishing from my phone. I actually didn’t have a laptop, at all. I used my wife’s work laptop for a whole two posts before she left that job, having to turn in the laptop. Sheepishly, I lied and blamed my children for why I had to use my phone.
“They broke it, they broke my laptop because they hate me”
(While this is PARTIALLY true, my laptop was broken long before I began blogging. I believe it was broken during my drunk youtube internet sensation that plays the guitar days, which can be found here, I wouldn’t click it at work, or ever.)
I was embarrassed to say that my only means of writing was my iPhone. I knew people didn’t take me seriously. I didn’t even have a computer and I was trying to be a writer. I needed to write though, it kept me up at night.
It is hard to describe how words keep me up at night. The need to write almost suffocates me daily. Once it was turned on, well, I couldn’t turn it off if I wanted to. My mind races through memories, sizing them up and wondering how they would be to write. My conscious is a librarian, scrambling around trying to find what is just right to share, while still busily taping off parts as restricted.
When I don’t write, I don’t sleep. Once my mind has decided it has something to say, a recorded loop goes on in my head,
“It is time. This needs to be said. Now is the time to say this. It needs to be said”, followed by a rough outline of exactly what I will sit down and write.
I once heard a quote, from a famous sculptor, I believe I heard this in Venice so I assume it was one of the famous artists that were later immortalized as Ninja Turtles. The quote basically stated that his statues were always stuck in the stone, and it was his job to free them.
This resonates with me. A lot of the time, these words are already there and my fingers blast away furiously at the keyboard, releasing them from their prison in my mind.
Sound crazy? Is that artist enough for you?
It is crazy, even I can admit that. It doesn’t make it any less real. These aren’t my words, just like they aren’t yours. These words are their own.
Yes, so I decided, with the words becoming increasingly impatient, to do NaNoWriMo.
Since I decided to take this challenge. There have been two panic attacks and serious consideration of committing blog suicide before erasing my social media presence as much as possible.
I don’t want to fail. I am having a really hard time with self-doubt over it. Something that I keep with me is the memories of how people reacted when they found out I wrote exclusively from my phone.
“You need a laptop to blog.”
Well, I had a family to provide for and no extra income for a laptop. So, no, I don’t need a laptop to blog.
( I have a laptop now, and you don’t need a laptop to blog- if you are reading this wondering about writing- consider this- PEOPLE ONCE DREW ON FUCKING CAVE WALLS. You don’t even need a pencil to draw. Use what you have. Whether it is pen and paper or the blood of thine enemies. If you want to write, don’t let anyone tell you what you “need” to write. The only need there is, is the need to do it.)
Two panic attacks, with the challenge five days away, I am all but ready to give up on myself. Self-doubt and insecurity are raging a war inside with words that need to come out.
Self-doubt and his pal, insecurity, are telling me of all the things I “need” to write a book. All this time I “need”. All these books I “need”. All this space, purpose, outlines, everything I “need”.
I just need to fucking do it.
So here I am. On the precipice of what, in my mind, is glory or defeat. Taking on another challenge, ill-equipped and without my needs. I have something that trumps need though.
I have the words, coupled with desire and passion.
Bring on NaNoWhatTheFuckAmIDoing, because I am ready and excited for the experience.
Also, I really fucking want it.