How to Flex the Writing Muscles

After nearly three weeks of letting my third draft languish in oblivion, I’ve returned to my 200 word daily goal. Better yet, I wrote 359 words. Take that, writer’s block!

I read another Dear Diary article, and it inspired me to write this one. Maybe this writer and I have similar processes and feelings about writing because at the end of her post, when she talks about having a mini meltdown and then returning to writing, I thought, yes, girl, same. She gets me. I, too, have meltdowns about my writing. For example:

My book is horrible, my plot has so many holes in it it could be Swiss cheese. My characters are flat. My stakes aren’t high enough. What does my main character even want? Girl, I DON’T KNOW.

Before I started working on my draft today, I was texting one of my besties. Guilt was creeping in, knowing I shouldn’t sit in front of the tv and rot all night the way I was craving. What I should do, I thought to myself, is write. And what did I do? I texted my friend all my bullshit reasons for why I wasn’t writing. The texts weren’t all that different from the thoughts that occur when I’m having a writing meltdown. When the conversation was over, I debated texting my dad for reassurance for my lack of momentum. And then I thought, this is getting ridiculous, just f***ing write!

After that, I read the aforementioned dear dairy article and it inspired me to draft this Substack post because after my lack of consistency, all it took was siting down at my computer to put more words on the page. Forward momentum, no matter how small. It doesn’t have to be good, in fact, the idea is for it not to be good. At this stage, you’re just getting everything out of your mind and onto the page. In all its messy glory. Editing comes later. For right now, the page is the playground. This is supposed to be fun, remember? It also doesn’t have to be a lot, 359 words is not a lot. Most of the time, I can write that in my sleep. I’ve had nights where I write thousands of words, but that’s not every night, and that’s okay.

Sometimes, when I get stuck in my own mind, feeling down about my book and wondering why I even started it in the first place, I remind myself I do this because I love it. I love words and telling stories with them. Maybe this book will take several more years to come to fruition (god, I hope not), but that’s not the point. The point is that I’m spending time honing a craft I care about. Passion, connection, devotion. That is why I do this, no matter what happens in the future.