Not to say I’ve quit writing my story, no, not in the least. Life, sickness, work – all these things one livinig in the mundane world interrupted and so I’m so far behind the 50k isn’t even going to begin being possible.
Maybe I should’ve titled this “Writer Interrupted.”
I’ve also read troubling things in my group that have me reconsidering the whole point behind NaNo. I mean, seriously, when someone says they’ll “just make up some words” so they can show a decent word count, isn’t that totally defeating the purpose of writing something that people will read and (hopefully) someday cherish as one of their favorite stories ever? I don’t mean to sound a purist or prude, but when I write, it has to mean something – what I put out on the page must resonate within my very being or to me it’s not even worth jotting down. I can’t just sit there and write “because it has to be done,” because bills have to be paid and this is the only thing that will do it and yadda yadda yadda. I write because I love to write. It my passion, not my paycheck, yet if I could somehow make it my paycheck, I would do it full time.
There was an article I once read that said “We would abandon writing in a second if it wasn’t the only thing we could do well.”
Abandon writing? Abandon the thing that has given me so much joy, and pain, and tears, and passion? No, not even close. I would gladly abandon this mundane life of retail if it wasn’t the only thing paying my bills, if I suddenly got a windfall of cash that would afford me to seclude myself from all the drama and misfortunes of life so I could write. I may be speaking for myself here, but writers write for the end result, that accomplishment of finally finishing that first draft, the joy of having their voices be heard, to have their works be appreciated and admired. E. L. James can go write crap that’ll sell for billions, but not me. I’d rather stew over a work that has have no traffic, one that I’m proud of that make one cent of my works. Sure, it’d be nice to see a screenplay made out of Day 1, to see my name on the screen or even on NY Times Bestseller list, but do you think Picasso painted for the money? Do you think Poe died pretty much a pauper because he didn’t want to write?
No, they wrote, painted what they felt, what spoke to them, and whatever person tells you to give up your dream of being a writer just because you don’t sit and churn out ream after ream of who knows what is lying.
You are a writer.
You hear me?
You are a writer!
As long as your heart sings with verse and prose and rhyme and rhythm divine – as long as your words, your words, have reached and touched one person, then you, my friend, are a writer.
The Goddess Has Spoken.