A year ago today I decided to write my book. I came up with the concept exactly two days before The National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) began. I wrote my little heart out and ended up with 56,000 words in 25 days.
Since then I’ve continued to write, continued to change things. I’ve taken 20 weeks of writing classes, have given chapters to family and friends for their opinions and critique, have outlined, reoutlined, written, and rewritten. What I have now is barely recognizable as that first draft – those first 56,000 words that only generally followed a plot or structure.
What I have now is so much better, and still so far from being finished.
It amazes me that I have spent a year of my life on this and I still want to continue. I’ve had good days and bad days, and good weeks and bad weeks. Some days I’ve wanted to throw it all in the trash, others I’ve written until I couldn’t focus on the monitor anymore. But here I am, 365 days later, and still just as intent on finishing as when I started. Perhaps more so.
I’ve learned so much in the past year – structure, story, pacing, character, dialogue, etc., but it all pales when compared to desire. The desire to write is key. For years I’ve told stories, never understanding that it meant something deeper to me.
So today isn’t just my bookiversary, but it’s the anniversary of realizing my path. I may have a different job for the moment, but in my heart I’m a writer. And I’ll be a writer long after other jobs have come and gone. With any luck I can be a writer and make it my job as well.
Today marks the beginning of year two as I attempt to reach my goal – writing, finishing, polishing, and selling my book(s). I hope I make as much progress as I did last year!