I’ve had an eye-opening week that I’m sad to have coming to an end. Some of it was spent with friends and family for the last birthday of my twenties and I’d be lying if I didn’t express some sadness over this dying decade. It may have been with that in mind that I decided to take a week’s vacation to finally put pen to paper and really dig into my first novel.
Lovely has been an idea in progress for many years and I’m proud to say, finally, it’s a work in progress. I’ve substituted my normal work week with “pretending” to be an author, and was able to pen nearly 60 pages. Now, it’s garbage, and I know it, but it’s a start. Two revelations were made with this week’s experiment:
- I am capable of being an author.
- Lovely is very ambitious and will take more time to complete than I can adequately give.
To the first point, what I mean to say is that it felt very good to finally have success at sustained writing outside of blogging and my senior thesis. Whether publication is in my future or not, who knows, but at least I know now that it would be foolish not to try–the opposite of what I feared before.
To the second… holy crap! I am terrified by the time it demands to complete–and the hold it now holds over me.
With that mind, I’m probably going start venting here in my digital outlet, among other things.
Thanks for reading and the support.