I convert the date into letters because it seems so much more harmless when spelled out like that. I can hear a young lady with a British accent speaking it aloud in my mind, and it sounds nice that way. If I just blurt it out in numbers then the end of the month seems so much closer, and somewhere inside me a little writer cowers in terror.
I told myself that I would have the rough draft of Evanescent Moonlight done by the end of September at the latest.
...it sits at 65,283 words, nowhere near done.
So I am forced to re-evaluate my situation. Very well, I don't have it done. And I do know several reasons why it isn't done:
- Procrastination. (Might as well get that one out of the way first, no?)
- My laptop still doesn't work, so I am sharing this desktop with two other people.
- I have been reading a lot more. (Yay!)
But enough of making excuses to myself. I have to face up to the fact that, little by little, I have become one of those 'writers' who talk and read and think about writing but never actually do it. I know so much, but what have I done?
I believe that if you truly love something, you will make time for it. And I have made plenty of time for reading writing blogs, listening to writing podcasts, talking about writing, and writing blog posts about writing. I have also spent much time thinking about writing, thinking about interesting character traits or story twists, stealing ideas straight from history, imagining how I could use fiction to convey the things I feel most passionate about.
So I'm not sure I understand this stranglehold that apathy has on me.
Is it just another form of my recurring struggle to get things out of my head and into the real world? That I could very well believe. The darn beasty came back. It latches onto my human nature, trying to drown out the voice of reason that says that anything worth doing is bound to be hard.
I have learned so much in the past six months. So much! I look back on the things I knew about writing a year ago, and the difference seems hard to comprehend. But the gulf between what I know and what I can do has grown so vast that now I am afraid of trying.
But I know that I can't stop here.
So I extend my imaginary sword (you know, the one all writers carry, whether they know it or not), and cry that I will do hard things! I will not stop! I will remain fully aware of the difficulties facing me at all times, and I will not avoid them!
And above all, I will not allow how little I have accomplished at this point to keep me from trying. I am competing against my past self, and no one else. Productiveness is not always measured by word count, and one cannot judge the success of a multifaceted life based on one single area.