Writing. Writing, writing, writing. Writing.
Writing.
(Writing.)
In case you are wondering, the answer to the above question is WRITING.
For the past three months I have been working on (what is sometimes embarrassingly referred to as) a novel. The story of a girl with telekinesis and her just-as-scientifically-empowered cohorts. (This might be the first time I have ever been so specific about plot when I talk about this thing.)
But (plot twist) there is another novel(-ish thing that's not actually finished yet)! How? How can this be? Isn't one enough? The answer to that is never, but taking on two books at once is a daunting task. I hardly even like reading more than one book at a time and now I'm trying to write two? What is wrong with me?
NaNoWriMo.
What a word, I know. Na(tional)No(vel)Wri(ting)Mo(nth) is an annual event that encourages people to sit down and write without letting thoughts like "Is this any good?"get in the way. There is no room for second-guessing yourself in NaNoWriMo because you only have one month to finish a 50,000 word novel. If it sounds like torture, that's because it is. 50,000 words is a lot of words. Do you know how many essays that is? (If you do, let me know because I don't.)
That being said, how much time do I spend on these projects? Honestly, I don't really even know. There are some days where you'll find me writing for hours and hours on end and then other days where just opening up Word is an accomplishment. And a very huge one at that, depending on the day. But it is safe to assume that I fulfill the two to four hour a week requirement. Really, though, I should be writing at least two to fours hours a day.
The creative mind has always boggled me, to be perfectly honest. People who direct movies, who paint, who write music, who write books. All these people have to have whole worlds inside their heads to get anything done. Can you imagine anyone of these people being successful by recreating their neighbor on paper? Unless that neighbor is a raging lunatic who sacrifices pigs in his backyard, whatever comes out of that is not going to be very interesting. Creative people have to see different things, they have to experience things in a new way, they have to use their imaginations, in order to be even remotely successful. That has always been my favorite thing about writing. I have whole worlds inside my head and I can take people to those worlds just by writing about it. Who needs a car when they have a book?
What sucks about that? I actually have to write it.
I love writing, love it to death. But sometimes writing can be a real bitch. There are too many words in the English language and half of them mean the same thing but don't. You can skulk, or you can walk. Same thing, but two different things. Why? You can be triumphant or victorious. Why do I need two different options there? You can be mad or angry or frustrated (ha, get it, frustrations) and even though they are all fundamentally the same thing there is something different about them. And, as a writer, your job is to pick to perfect word. Over and over and over and OVER again. A book is more than one word.
Sure, there's lots more about writing that get my blood boiling, but that, that is what frustrates (angers, upsets, vexes, irks, irritates, annoys, infuriates) me the most.
But I have found that about 93% of the time, I find that word. And I'm happy with it about 84% of the time. So it's not necessarily what I've learned about myself, but what I am in the process of accepting: I am a good writer. Sooner or later, I find the right words and I put them together in a way that even I find pleasing. Sooner or later, characters have a life of their own and I'm just recording it. Sooner or later, stuff actually happens. Wow. Hold on, I think I need a minute.
Part of the process of accepting this is letting other people actually read what I've written. Which is actually a lot harder than it sounds. For a long time, I never even told anyone that writing was even on the table. Just getting past that hurdle was hard enough, but then you throw in letting them read it? Are you kidding? But then, one day, I did it. I let someone read what I wrote. A complete stranger, at that. And you know what happened? She liked it. Someone read something I wrote and liked it. I could hardly believe it. I probably stopped breathing, quite possibly actually pinched myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Because I was so freaking happy, so pleased, so proud, so satisfied, so many things all at once. That is what I learned about writing: the feeling that comes along with someone liking what I wrote.
(Cue abrupt subject change) The main part of my Time Management Plan (that needs a better name. I'll come up with something) is getting my priorities straight. Right now, my problem is that I don't focus on what is important and spend my time wasting it. So I've narrowed down my priorities to these four, in no particular order: writing, school, eating, sleeping. Because, really, these are pretty fundamental to my life. Now all that's left is actually managing my time. We'll save that for later :)
