W is for the Writing Life

The experiment is almost to a close.

See, this was a bit a different than NaNoWriMo, wasn't it? I have about, what, three more days of this? And I wanted to see if I could do it. Really, just do it. Sorta like running a marathon and coming in number gazillion and fourteen. But, I was there, ya know? Everyone climbs Mount Everest. Tell me the last guy who climbed it. See? Not important to us immediately. But for that woman or man? The world. Just to stand there, realizing we're basically nothing on this earth and there's no oxygen left, but, for that one individual who put the time in and climbed all the way up? It was everything for them.

I looked at this challenge several times. But, here, let me back up. This NaNoWriMo (see earlier posts), I finally finished my darn book. The tic was, of course, it was my seventh, but the first one I really enjoyed writing and plotting out. The first one that I thought I might have a future with. So that means, for seven Novembers prior, I wrote and looked like an unclean toilet.

I consider those warm up runs.

Heh. "Runs" and I made a toilet metaphor. I crack me up.

I've never really done this whole Blogging from A-to-Z bit and this was the first time, or seems to be, the first time I've actually carried through to the (almost!) end. I think that's vital-probably moreso than the result that you see before you. The goal was to see what writing everyday and posting every day resulted in.

Basically, I lived the Writer's Life. And, now this month has begun to draw to a close, I can put up some observations I've collected. I've always wanted to live a Writer's Life. Quit this working shit and just sit at my desk, and, well, author away, corgis at my feet, coffee and tea only steps away--and a reason to keep that blasted kitchen clean.

Some observations:

1.  I can write at home. I can. When I lived in Colorado, I could, too, because, well, blizzards. It kept blizzard. So we set up one of the spare rooms as writer's pad, complete with corgi bed and desk facing the window. This also became the place where I gave out my first interviews over the phone for a possible job. Yes, fond, fond memories. However, our space here in Florida is wonderfully minuscule. But I can author on the patio in basic comfort, just shushing my husOtter's inks, brushes, paints to the side. But it was difficult. I developed a horrible case of the flu, so I could not just vamoose to my favorite java hut. I had to find a way to stop coughing and tough it out. It can be done. And I noticed it takes up less time.

2.  Momentum. I stockpiled the first few articles, but I noticed that if I miss one day writing SOMETHING, I'll miss more than one. And, yes, editing, to some extent, keeps your relationship to your authorship-but the momentum has to be maintained for consistency in the author's voice. The more frequently you write? The more the verbage stays the same. I know, that sounds kinda like a killer, that consistency is the death to all good art, but that's not what I'm addressing here. I noticed it moreso during the NaNoWriMo, as the characters can stay more consistent. But here? When it's my "voice?" Even that becomes a character here on the blog and I have to maintain it's presentational aspects.

3.  Tea and coffee work the same. Actually, I found, since I was writing at home, I tended to get into a terrible rhythm that maintained poor posture and heavy panting. Water. Coffee. Tea. It forces you to break, turn your head, sip and shake the muse a bit.

4.  Fiction and nonfiction come from different parts of the brain. I journal for myself, not for others, daily. Just my thing to reflect on the day. It's not for others consumption, heck, I don't even reread it myself. But to publish something, daily, in a forum such as this? That's a whole different ball game. I realized, well, I must be boring. I noticed repetition on ideals and philosophies which are wonderful if you're proving your a fellow Democrat, but lousy in terms of trying to keep a writer engaged in the same message on a different day. Fiction? One character, ongoing. Easy. And if I sour of them? I kill them off. Horribly. Here? Not an option.

5.  The Censor lives on. On social media, I tend to censor myself, muttering to myself about the stupidity of my fellows on the their various pages. I have to, not so much because society dictates I do, but because, frankly, I go there to relax. I'm not in the mood to argue with people who define themselves as friends-but who still might be slightly misaligned-and keep them as such. That means keep the apple cart pretty steady and having convivial chats about fart jokes. And it's easy. privacy is a breeze, if you want it to be. Then there's here? I've learned to turn off the censor in my head for creative writing...in fiction. But not so much on the nonfiction side. I have to learn how to be able to let the words fly and land where they may, as it were. Strangely, I have no problem doing this with movie criticism and literary criticism. After all, I doubt I'll ever meet those movie stars and published authors. Here? That's a different game. But if they're smart enough to read this blog, they're smart enough to handle the truth. I jsut have to be willing to turn that little switch in my noggin and just be direct.

There. Some observations from this past month. Enjoy? Peace....