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Posts Tagged ‘beginnings’

writing blog picI’m in the midst of writing a short story. Since I mostly write poetry, this is a bit of a change. Especially since I’ve challenged myself to write every day. Consistency is not my strong suit—not when it comes to my own personal schedule. But since this story has grabbed my attention I’ve written for eleven days in a row (it’s a start…).

I think I read somewhere that you need to do something for at least twenty days in a row for it to become a habit. As much as I love to write, I’ve been inconsistent and haven’t made writing time a true priority. This was part of the reason for setting this challenge for myself—how can I seriously call myself a writer if I don’t take my writing seriously? I guess it’s not that my writing isn’t a habit; it just isn’t a very consistent one. That’s something I’d like to change.

Something I’ve learned during these past eleven days: I kinda’ understand why some authors drink. Ha! There have been moments, and tonight is one of them, when I’ve been nervous about writing. Not because I don’t know what I’m going to write, but because I’m not quite sure how it’s going to come out. I can totally see how a drink or two would relax you before you take to the pen—or keyboard, as the case may be. (Please understand that I’m writing this tongue-in-cheek. I’m not advocating alcoholism for anyone, author or otherwise.)

So tell me, does anyone else get nervous about writing a particular scene? I’ve been getting actual butterflies in my tummy at points. Typical? Or am I more neurotic than I thought?

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Most tourists assumed that the barista’s haughty attitude was part of the ‘coffee shop experience’. And while Molly did feel a certain amount of contempt for the ridiculously pretentious lattes and macchiatos they ordered, the look of disdain she wore was there mostly because she couldn’t stand the smell of coffee.

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Rediscovered…

One of the good things about selling everything you own is that you sell everything you own. I thought going into this that doing so would be more emotionally draining than it’s turned out to be. I am drained—physically—because late nights, early mornings, and moving furniture make a person tired. At least this person.

But surprisingly, this has been an energising excursion. It marks the beginning of another, much grander adventure.

Another benefit of selling everything you own is the opportunity to find stuff. All kinds of things—things you lost and things you didn’t even remember existed. Whilst clearing off my (numerous) bookshelves, I needed to organise, discard, or otherwise deal with an entire shelf of college notebooks. I saved the papers I wrote, because, well, I wrote the damn things. But notes and handouts and syllabuses all got recycled. The stack was three feet high and took more than one trip out to the recycle bin.

But amongst the papers I found my notebook from a 20th-century lit class. And in my notebook was a poem I had apparently jotted down while in class (there were a surprising number of poems and poem fragments in my notes).

for bell hooks

to front and fake it

break open their hearts

patriarchal notion

emotional awareness

giving lyric voice to

transformative power

spiritual penetration

serious politics of cool

a survival strategy

refusing to be a victim

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At first, I thought that creating this blog would simply be jumping on the blogging bandwagon. But after doing a little research, I realized that I need a blog if I’m to be taken seriously as a writer. And I am a writer. Right?

This is what I’ve been tellling myself, at least, and the time has come to make this a public declaration, rather than simply a private affirmation.

I am a writer.

I am a writer. See me blog.

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