Ah, the life of a writer — a magical world filled with caffeine-induced frenzies, bouts of existential dread, and the ever-elusive quest for the perfect metaphor.
Again, Ah, the writer’s life. A journey as tumultuous as it is darkly humorous. A journey filled with madness, the above-mentioned existential crisis, and satisfaction. A truly disturbing mix, and yet, on we go. You'd better laugh, kids, cuz it only gets weirder from here.
Let’s talk about the number of words writing goal for the day. Almost always delusional. It’s usually way too high, as in “I Will Write 10,000 Words a Day” or some such. Seriously? Probably not going to happen, but let’s go on. It is the classic overachiever’s trap.
In a fit of ambition fueled by caffeine (of which you’ve no doubt imbibed too much) and laudable but misplaced ambition, you stand up and declare out loud for the benefit of your present cat or dog that you’re going to do it. You’re going to write those 10,000 words today and every day until your novel is complete.
Okey dokey. Depending on genre, that would mean finishing your novel in somewhere between five and fifteen days. Seriously. Day one would probably be pretty good, enthusiasm and all that. Day two is a slowdown. Day three, and you’re wondering why you ever began and demanding to know where the heck your muse went on vacation. After that, you’re banging your head against the wall, questioning your every life choice, and pondering whether a career in interpretive dance might be better. Or maybe even just a good ‘ol’ office job. Oh, yeah, and it’ll get worse.
Photo by Ryan Snaadt on Unsplash
Then you decide, exhausted, to take it a bit easier on yourself and create a whole new fantasy about how you’ll finish that novel in a month. Well, there used to be National Novel Writing Month, but I believe that’s gone, but you can always demand a novel in a month of yourself. In a brand new fit of anxiety because you didn’t complete your 10,000 words a day and finish that thing in a week or so, you decide a more realistic goal is a month to crank out a true literary masterpiece. You know, that 30 days thing. So you stock up on snacks, clean up the coffee machine, and pump up yet another unhealthy level of self-delusion. Thus armed, you dive in. This should be a snap. A whole thirty days to write your novel (snicker). You start under a full head of steam. Breeze along. Get a lot done. That’s all in the first week. You communicate with others on the same journey, encouraging each other. Kinda what NaNaWriMo was all about. The second week, you’re still plugging and optimistic. By the third week, you might question whether sleep is really necessary. Others wonder the same thing. By the time you reach week four, you’re so fevered to get this thing done that you’ve created a narrative so convoluted that even the characters have lost track of the plot. Really. No S*&t, Sherlock. But you’re going to tell me here that you finished it, right? You have a great first draft ready for editing, am I correct?? Right???? (Just add your victory to the comments below)
Photo by Brigitte Tohm on Unsplash
Okay, so maybe that didn’t go quite as well as you thought it would. Let’s try another tactic, define another goal. The new self-pledge “I will write every day from now on without fail” pledge. Rain, shine, or blizzard (oh, wait, a blizzard might keep you home and give you more time to write), in sickness and caffeine-fueled health, the heck with all other commitments and/or family, I’m gonna write! Yeah, you know, if only life didn’t get in the way — job, kids, spouse. The first few days of your commitment to yourself are fantastic. Words flow like a literary river. You feel J. K. Rowling could do no better. But then there’s life. Remember that kid? He has a cold and is out of school. The spouse? He wants you to come to a party at the office for his five-year congratulatory party. The cat is now napping on the keyboard. Computer and WiFi gods are out to get you, and suddenly you question the very fabric of the universe; its meaning, and why the hell am I doing this? (Or trying to do this.)
Here’s another priceless promise writers make to themselves, another fruitless goal. “I will not procrastinate.” You take yourself aside and have a talk with yourself. You swear, pledge, promise that from now on you’re going to do things differently. You will not procrastinate. You won’t look for something, anything to do other than writing, like binge-watching weird documentaries on what may have come before the big bang, no more reorganizing your computer file folders and trying to open more memory by reviewing all your documents and dumping old ones. With the determination of an over-caffeinated hamster on his wheel, you are determined to stomp down procrastination, but wait, have you checked your TikTok feed lately? Your Blue Sky feed? There was a horror movie you planned to watch (for research, of course). The next thing you know, you’re hip-deep in funny cat videos. And you’re trapped in the time accordion where time expands and contracts so quickly that suddenly it’s gone, and you haven’t written a thing.
How about this worthy goal? I will not edit as I write. We’ve all heard the advice “Don’t edit as you write, just get your words down on paper.” Right! And great advice it is. Problem is I haven’t met a writer yet who hasn’t given in to the siren call of perfection. It’s just too tempting to tweak sentences, rearrange paragraphs, and sentences until you begin to question your very origins. It’s rather nuts how obsessive a writer can become over a chapter or a paragraph as it’s written. It is truly a torture of the soul.
One more. Have you confronted this combo delusion of mirage and misplaced optimism? So you finished your novel. Now you’ve convinced yourself it’s the Great American Novel. It’s going to be published immediately. It’s going to be snapped up by a major agent and a big publishing house. So, with all the enthusiasm within you, you send your manuscript to literary agents, publishers, and probably that distant relative who once mentioned they knew someone in the industry. Thank goodness we’re past the days of mailing paper manuscripts and waiting for the mail person to come. But after you send many emails with attachments, days turn into weeks and then months. You refresh your email inbox like a cat waiting to pounce. Rejections pile up. Self-publishing seems the route, and you sharpen your haiku skills, contemplating whether the world is ready for haikus about existential crises. Oh, wait, no doubt there are already lots of them out there written by other stressed-out writers.
So, there we are. What writer hasn’t been there? It’s comical and chaotic, and dark and empowering. Through it all, we go on. We write. And one thing remains true for all of us — writing is a journey filled with unexpected twists, turns, and that occasional existential crisis. Do I really have to tell you to embrace the madness, laugh at the absurdity, and remember that the best stories often emerge from the messiest of drafts? Set those ridiculous goals, dive headfirst into the chaos, and may your literary adventures be as entertaining as the stories you spill upon the page.
** There are links in this article that should you follow them and make a purchase, I will receive a small commission. Yet another adjunct to a writer’s income so I can feed the dog!
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Want to learn from me? Check out Romancing Your Novel, my UDMY romance writing course.
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