I have decided to pass up a paid nonfiction writing gig to focus more on my fiction writing.
Last year was a year of transition for me writing wise… I feel like I hit a wall and then didn’t really know how to get around it. I struggled with sense of self, with expectations (both real and imagined, both understandable and downright nut-so), and I floundered. A lot.
I am ready to rededicate myself to writing. To the written word that is produced by me. In fiction.
I am giving myself permission to write crap. To write badly. To write stories in drafts that are silly, lame, go no where, and have no point. I am giving myself permission to start over as a fiction writer, to wipe the slate clean and let go of the few nonfiction vestiges I have been holding onto.
I am going to stop calling myself a free lace writer, an author. I am going to start calling myself a writer’s apprentice. I am going to read good books written by good writers and then hone my craft. I am going to read books on writing written by writers I admire and let go of the critiques of those who’s work I don’t appreciate. I am not going to write book reveiws. I am not going to edit anyone elses work. I am not going to collaborate. I am going to be selfish with my free time. I am going to reattach myself to the keyboard.
I am going to write when I don’t feel beset by the muse. I am going to write when I am unsure of where I am going. I am going to write for me and not think about what will happen when the writing part is over. I am going to wallow in the writing process. I am going to rediscover my fiction voice. I am going to ramble and vent and think and finally let some of the demons out of my head an back onto the page where they belong.
I want this year to be the year that I am, once again, proud of myself… maybe not proud of what I wrote exactly… but proud again that I bothered to write at all.
I am going to find myself again through the words that only I can pick and place on the page.
Consider yourself warned.