While cleaning my childhood bedroom post-college I found a collection of stories. I use the term loosely. They usually the first five pages, at most, and clearly crafted by someone who had just mastered reading chapter books. Each story contained a very ornate and detailed cover drawing with the sort of shakiness and brutal honesty that only an 11 year old could muster.
I’ve always been a storyteller.
In high school, my drama club participated it was then dubbed ‘Fest’, or the Massachusetts High School Drama Festival (it’s since been renamed). During my freshman year, we wrote an original one act play. It was the first time I’d worked on art of such magnitude from start to finish. In college, I studied abroad in Ireland and joined the Writer’s Soc. As a theater major, I wanted a break from my chosen artform. I decided to not participate in any theater whilst across the pond and reinvigorated my love for the written word. And technically the spoken word with most of my writing that year taking the form of poetry written for slams.
Stories, in a different form.
Outside of writing, I’m a serial hobbyist. I change hobbies more than I change my my hair, which is to say a lot. As someone who isn’t afraid to try something new, there are many projects left unfinished on my shelves (and in my craft boxes). I’ve learned when to throw in the towel and admit defeat, either starting over or moving on completely. It hasn’t always been easy, but I’ve worked hard to know where the line is with physical crafts and where my patience runs thin.
When I took part in National Novel Writing Month (NANO) in 2023, it wasn’t my first attempt at long form writing, but it was the first time I’d come in with a plan. Outlines and character descriptions, etc. were all mapped out in advance so that I could dive into the words. And it was great. I had a wonderful time and I’ve learned so much about my writing style, what I need to effectively write, and how to set myself up for success. I think I wrote 25k words, which was half of the goal but still pretty amazing, if I do say so myself.
And for the past two years, I’ve been chipping away at it. Right now I’m at about 48k words. Words that will need to be rewritten and edited and adjusted. Chapters that need to be reworked and better aligned. It’s not done, but I can see the first draft finish line.
I’ve faced writer’s block and battled my way through it, but now I find myself at an impasse. Other ideas have crept in. The urge to pivot is real. Is it time to shelve this unfished project and move on? Or do I put my head down and power through? I don’t know but when my mind wanders it no longer lives in the world of the first novel but ventures into this new one.
This isn’t like shelving an embroidery hoop (of which there are several, unfinished, in a box); this is two years of dedicated commitment of my personal time. Blood (metaphorically), sweat, and tears (literal) have been poured in to this document. I have never left a project of this magnitude unfinished.
Beyond the wound to my personal pride, is this just another attempt at self-sabotaging? Or have I learned what I needed to from this project and can use these new skills in the next one? Who’s to say?
There are no tears of frustration (yet) and I haven’t started pulling out my hair. Which is to say, I think I’m going to try to finish. For now. Whether it takes another month or another decade, I know one day this book/draft/novel/story/rambling/chaos will be finished. If the pull to the next story (or the next, or the next) becomes overwhelming, then I’ll pivot. Until then, I’m going to try and keep chipping away towards the finish line. Who knows if I’ll edit or query it. Who knows if it will become digital clutter and a fun fact for future corporate activity (Two truths and a lie: I wrote a novel, I had a baby, and I hate peas. Answer: I love peas).
I will not run a marathon, but I will write a book.
Loved this. Feel your pain!