Day One: 1,866 of 50,000
Oh the joy of writing toward a goal. I know, I probably should have tried to write more in the ample time after I finished March’s novel (in a week), but I was rather intrigued by the space left by not writing. What would I fill it with? How did I ever manage to not write?
Sadly it was all too easy to forget to write. I got back to tapping away at the second draft of January’s work, a few thousand words at a time, and that was thanks to irowboat reminding me to get back to it.
Now, I’m at least in the habit of again writing most days, and I’ve developed a good working relationship with this iPad, my new tool of the trade.
But I still need to do the hardest part of the week. Beginning.
Oh, beginning. The start of a whole new story, a whole new cast of characters. This is the setup of the thing I will be stuck with for the rest of the month.
This month, I am finding myself having a lot of trouble finding something to write. Not because I don’t have ideas, but because I am resisting what I know it is time to write next. I am trying to write anything but what I know I truly want to.
Because when I started this project, I imposed a rule on myself that I wanted to write twelve distinctive novels. It seems like the easy way out, writing a series of the same universe.
(It could also be argued that there is no easy way out when you’re writing a novel each month. That thought honestly just occurred to me.)
I’ve mentioned before that my novel from January hasn’t stopped whispering to me. In fact, February’s problematic novel turned into an origin story for one of the main characters from that first novel – as often happens while I write, this came as a surprise. I was writing, then suddenly I realized who this guy I had been struggling with was. He was turning into the person I already wrote.
In March, I slayed a sacred cow, a story I have been wanting to write from when I was in high school. I wanted to get it out of my system and fast, so I couldn’t worry about mucking it up.
And now, I know it is time for me to write this next novel, and it’s based on the one from January.
Then, I remember my limitation – twelve distinct novels. I tell myself I should write anything else. Anything. Else.
My mind, predictably, goes blank. Intuitively, I know that what comes next is this story. Intuitively, I know that each month I will struggle against writing this, that every time I search for something new, it will really be me running from that story I told myself I wouldn’t write.
If I give in now and do it, I can stop that struggle.
So my confessions to you all: three of the novels this year are all going to be in the same story line, two prequels and the main event.
And while I’m getting things out of the way, another confession: they’re all vampire novels. Paranormal romance, even.
It’s okay. You can judge me.
Judgement or not, limitations or not, I am going to go ahead and write the novel.
Because writing is such a self-revealing process, I am tempted to think there is something in this story I am telling myself both to write and to avoid. I like to think that if I start to walk through a door, and that door is instantly slammed shut, something really good is behind it.
Let’s hope I’m right. And if I’m not, there will still be a whole new 50,000 words that weren’t there before at the end of April.