Except apparently I am

I wrote here once about why I’m not writing a novel. It’s been a while since then, and a few things have changed. I turned forty this year, and I’m now semi-seriously looking at buying a house in the small town where I’ve been living for the past ten years. It seems my fear of commitment has abated somewhat – who knew that was even possible?! – and that’s manifesting in my creative life as well.

I got serious about my writing last year. I made a commitment at the beginning of the year to write every single day and I carried it through. There was no word count attached to that commitment, I just had to touch my project every day. So some days it was fifteen words and other days it was fifteen hundred. And as a result, a project that was intended to be a 10,000-word short ballooned into an accidental novel. I finished it on October 26th, and it clocked in at roughly 115,000 words.

I have absolutely no ambitions to publish that novel. It has gone into the trunk, where it will remain forever. But the point was absolutely the journey on this one and not the destination. I learned a huge amount in the process of writing it, not least of which was that I am capable of writing a long-form project and finishing it.

So I’m now in the middle of novel number two. I do have some ambitions for this one, but the most important one for the moment is finishing it. I’m back to writing every single day, and I’ve been at it this time since July 1st. I have a sort-of outline, because I’ve discovered I need at least goal posts to aim for or it’s impossible to move the story forward.

I also have a problem with procrastination at the moment, but that will be a blog post for another day.


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