Day 13: Writing at Camp
Well. May is over. I tried to write a story a day, but the challenge was a little above me.
Ah well. Time to dust off and move on.
This month in June I am going to attempt to write another novel as per Camp NaNoWriMo. I succeeded in writing my first (50k word) novel in November and now I'm going to try it again about seven months later.
I'm already about a day behind, but I feel like I have a decently interesting story to roll with. That being said... I'm writing in my blog today instead of climb up the word count on the novel.
Hm...
I think I find the blog an easier writing experience because I'm writing what I see, what I know, what I think, what I feel. It's easy. It's like doodling in the margins of your homework in math class. It's not suppose to mean anything or do anything for you other than to have you use your creativity (the lightning bugs that flare into life on the surface of your brain) instead of using the logic centers. Some people need that more that they need food (as would be where the stereotyped "starving artist" comes from) and I know that I can sometimes be one of them.
When I have a really interesting thought or something that I want to just get out of my head (including code) my fingers are rattling away at the keyboard at the fastest rate they can go. Usually my head keeps up with my hands, but not always.
The story I'm working on has me sort of puzzled. I think I'm writing a comedy. I had a weird dream (half dream, half waking thoughts) where I was being interviewed for my comedic genius of a novel. I was the big shot that everyone wanted to get their laughs from. People loved my book.
Ah... Dreams.
But then of course we have to get out of bed, get dressed and get on with our day.
This morning, I psyched myself without meaning too. I made a hugely (possibly unobtainable) goal for myself: being a (wildly successful) funny author. What if I'm not funny? What if I fail stupendously? What if zombies actually exist and eat me before my book gets published?
Well... Ok, that last one was for funzies. But in all seriousness... I gave myself a giant mountain of a goal and now my novel has to somehow climb to the top of that mountain on it's own. With only my meager knowledge of the written word and editing skills.
"That's a pretty tall mountain," you might say.
Or.. not. But, you get my drift.
I seem to be an expert at my own form of psychological warfare: the self inflicted kind.
First step. Getting out the anxiety that I won't do well. This will probably require alcohol.
Second Step. Writing.
In a speech to graduates, Neil Gaiman said to just Make Good Art through the good times and the bad and to enjoy the ride and to make mistakes. Time to get working on all three then, eh?
Now that everyone knows the plan, let's get to it.
Ah well. Time to dust off and move on.
This month in June I am going to attempt to write another novel as per Camp NaNoWriMo. I succeeded in writing my first (50k word) novel in November and now I'm going to try it again about seven months later.
I'm already about a day behind, but I feel like I have a decently interesting story to roll with. That being said... I'm writing in my blog today instead of climb up the word count on the novel.
Hm...
I think I find the blog an easier writing experience because I'm writing what I see, what I know, what I think, what I feel. It's easy. It's like doodling in the margins of your homework in math class. It's not suppose to mean anything or do anything for you other than to have you use your creativity (the lightning bugs that flare into life on the surface of your brain) instead of using the logic centers. Some people need that more that they need food (as would be where the stereotyped "starving artist" comes from) and I know that I can sometimes be one of them.
When I have a really interesting thought or something that I want to just get out of my head (including code) my fingers are rattling away at the keyboard at the fastest rate they can go. Usually my head keeps up with my hands, but not always.
The story I'm working on has me sort of puzzled. I think I'm writing a comedy. I had a weird dream (half dream, half waking thoughts) where I was being interviewed for my comedic genius of a novel. I was the big shot that everyone wanted to get their laughs from. People loved my book.
Ah... Dreams.
But then of course we have to get out of bed, get dressed and get on with our day.
This morning, I psyched myself without meaning too. I made a hugely (possibly unobtainable) goal for myself: being a (wildly successful) funny author. What if I'm not funny? What if I fail stupendously? What if zombies actually exist and eat me before my book gets published?
Well... Ok, that last one was for funzies. But in all seriousness... I gave myself a giant mountain of a goal and now my novel has to somehow climb to the top of that mountain on it's own. With only my meager knowledge of the written word and editing skills.
"That's a pretty tall mountain," you might say.
Or.. not. But, you get my drift.
I seem to be an expert at my own form of psychological warfare: the self inflicted kind.
First step. Getting out the anxiety that I won't do well. This will probably require alcohol.
Second Step. Writing.
In a speech to graduates, Neil Gaiman said to just Make Good Art through the good times and the bad and to enjoy the ride and to make mistakes. Time to get working on all three then, eh?
Now that everyone knows the plan, let's get to it.
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