Okay, there, I said it. This past week sucked in terms of my writing. I barely wrote 5,000 words over the last seven days and I am so ashamed of that.
To be honest, my only “excuse” is that I was depressed. And since I was depressed, I didn’t feel like writing, so I read three books this past week (fastest reading time, what what?).
And I guess my other excuse was that I just wasn’t “feeling” up to writing. Like, that’s not a good reason at all.
I am a writer and I love to write. I’m reminded of that every time I continue my story or start a new one. So why was this past week so hard?
Maybe because I was on such a roll I let it get to my head and so I just thought that I should take a break and everything. I mean, there’s really nothing wrong with that at all. If you need a break, take a break. I was ahead (and still am) anyway.
The other thing that got to me was this: is my writing important enough?
Maybe it was because of the three awesome books I read this past week with such great diverse topics that it made my writing feel inferior, less important than what it is.
I mean, my writing doesn’t hit hard issues like intersex, sexual orientation, or suicide. My story that I’m writing for Camp is a romance/fantasy that’s finally in its plot point right now where the action is finally taking off (and I finally reached 30k words to get to that point).
I felt like I should be writing about those hard topics or those diverse reads. I’ve had an idea for years that I still want to bring into fruition one day.
And then just last night when I asked my husband for words of encouragement he said: “Keep writing! Keep going! You can do it! Your writing matters!”
And it’s true. My writing does matter. All writing matters.
Sure, my story may be something that’s seen sort of often in YA fantasy, but it’s got more romance, it’s got a few twists that I hope no one sees coming. And I love it.
That’s the biggest thing: I love my story.
And why shouldn’t I? It’s my creation. No one else is going to write it exactly the way I’m going to write it but me. No one can tell my story like I can. And I love it.
Yes, it may have took a lot of pushing and prodding to reach just over 30k words last night, but I managed it because I know where I want my story to go and where I hope it’ll lead.
This week may have sucked, but I’ve gotten over a decent hurdle and I’m not going to stop now. Not until it’s finished, and definitely not until I reach my goal.
How are your stories for Camp NaNo coming along? Are you fizzling out? Almost done? Actually finished? Let me know.