With two days until the madness begins, I’m trying to get motivated for NaNoWriMo, but I feel more like a limp, deflated, burst balloon rag than I feel like a writer today. Now if there were only a Useful Pot to put me into…
I sometimes wish I knew why I was so compelled to write all the time (although that compulsion sometimes leaves me when I need it most, ugh). It’s not as if I crave fame or fortune, or that I feel that I’m a particularly good writer, although there have been enough other writers out there to boost my ego a bit as I read what they write… I don’t want to even go into some of the stuff I’ve read and been asked to give advice on or write a positive review for on Amazon. I get PTSD just thinking about some of it. But I’ve never considered myself a noteworthy writer, although that doesn’t stop me from iterating and refining and trying to be better. Nor, apparently, does it keep me from oversharing the results of my perversions.
Nor do I really feel qualified (outside of my children) in giving advice about writing, which is why I don’t tell anyone how to write and only spout out my own personal rules and theories about writing for myself, fully expecting to be ignored. If you take any of my writing advice to heart, do yourself a favor and forget it.
So, the end result is a not-completely-awful-compulsive-oversharing-writer.
With the various concepts I have for NaNoWriMo this year, I think several of them are potentially good, if not great, ideas. If they are done right.
And maybe that explains this whole limp balloon rag feeling I have — serious self-doubt about any ability I might have to leverage these concepts and wrangle them into something more than merely not-awful. Maybe I’m just an “ideas guy” and not really a writer at all. Believe me, I’ve considered the possibility that I might be the type who can come up with general plots and scenarios, but not the guy who can see them to completion. At bare minimum, I’m probably not the best guy to see them to completion.
Which brings up an interesting thought (this is new to me as of today): maybe I should seek out a collaborative effort with another writer where I set up the basic structures and play a lesser role in the writing.
But that’s not now. Now, I need to focus on what exactly I want to accomplish in November this year. Hopefully something less flaccid than I fear it might be.
Time to go kill monsters.
Originally posted at sceadugenga.com