I took a break from my blog for a while, which isn't nearly as uncommon and as I would like lately.
But this break was big.
Because this break wasn't caused by my being lazy and not wanting to write. This break was caused by me being so busy with writing (and still not wanting to write...) !!!
This break was not really a break at all. It was an abandon everything you know in life and work harder and write more than ever month.
Yes. That's right.
I wrote a book.
Starting November 1st, midnight, and ending November 28th, around ten ish at night. I wrote a book.
I'm not lying. I wrote 50,000 words in 28 days. Seriously.
Okay, so you probably don't doubt me. All of the "I'm not lying"s and "seriously"s are mostly for me. I still feel quite a bit in awe over the whole thing.
"Did I do that? What? I wrote a book? haha noooo."
But really. It was.... It was a lot of things.
1. It was exhausting.
2. It hurt my social lie more than I would like.
3. It killed my normal sleep pattern.
4. It made me not watch Doctor Who as often.
5. It made me stop reading. Period.
6. It made me cry.
7. It made me think I'm the worst writer in the world.
8. It made me think I'm the best writer in the world.
9. It filled me with some weird evangelical zeal.
10. It made me go insane.
and.... Yeah. That's a pretty good list. Covers just about all of my weird feelings for the month of November.
It had plot wholes bigger than earth itself, characters with zero personality, random deaths simply because I hated everything, and typos as if I were writing as a 6th grader. Actually, that's a really good description. If someone tried to read it now, they would think it was a really bad 6th grader fanfiction of something.
This is actually the first thing I have written for myself, not for school, since then. Which is kinda a long time.
It was the most exhausting, draining thing I've ever done. I still get nervous and my heart speeds up uncomfortably when I think about it.
But at the same time...
I finished.
I really did it.
And that is enough to make me happy.
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”
| — | Ernest Hemingway |
