... or, My! How time flies!
... or, Fuckity, fuckity, fuckity, fuck!
Remember how, oh, probably about 103 days a go, give or take, I had said something along the lines of, "I really need to start writing regularly on that book I always say I'm going to work on..."
No? You don't remember?
Oh, well, apparently neither did I.
Well, ok, that isn't quite true... I've thought about writing numerous times. Believe me, I know that writing is a muscle that if not exercised (like my flabby behind) will atrophy. I can't even say that it's because of a lack of opportunity. Nope. Nuh-uh. I've found myself with more free time--in the last two months especially, having changed jobs to one that doesn't expect me to work every night and weekend-- and in being out of grad school-- than I have had in the past 3 years.
I'm kind of kicking myself since it's not like I've used that newly found free time to actually go to the gym or take an art class or take up cake decorating (um, maybe I should put that one on hold for awhile and stick to trying to go to the gym, huh?). I've definitely THOUGHT about writing. Like last night. I thought about it. Then I decided to check a few more blogs and fiddle around on the internet and watch a dvr'd episode of Oprah. (Have I mentioned that I could really use a new car, Oprah? That would be awesome!)
There's nothing like logging into google docs though to have your procrastination documented literally in front of your face. "Last updated 103 days ago." Eee gads! Even if I had only written one page per day (the very modest goal I set myself) that would mean I would have 103 more pages than I had 103 days ago. In a year I would have 365 pages and that's a whole damned book.
Oh, internets! How I disappoint myself!
Don't get me wrong-- it's not as though I think I somehow have the next great American novel in me or anything. No, I have no goal other than to write the next great trashy romance novel. Why? Because I love them-- I love the wonderful escapist fantasy of it, I love that everything works out in the end and the bad guys get their comeuppance... and I love that it's one of the most commercially successful genres and it's something I might actually be able to make a buck off. (As opposed to the great American novel which only my heirs would be able to make a buck off of once it becomes required reading in every high school in the country.)
That is- I could make a buck off of it if I ever got off my (flabby!) arse to write it! Come to think of it, I don't even need to get off my arse at all. And isn't that the whole appeal of writing?
I had tried to form a critique group with a couple of friends who are aspiring writers but that fell flat and then so did my motivation to get things written by certain deadlines.
So... any motivational ideas, interweb friends? If you come up with the winning solution I might just have to dedicate my (sure to be award winning) book to you!