punkwalrus (punkwalrus) wrote,

Writing [hides head in cowl]

I broke an oath I made to myself last year: I didn't write. I typed barely a word of fiction since March, and even in my blogs were an effort sometimes. The "lazy" thing about writing in blogs is everything was written for you. All you have to do is tell it back in the right order, pepper it with some wit, humor, and musings, and there's no rule that says you have to have it make sense; it just happened that way. Sometimes, stuff happens in my life that, if retold as fiction, would seem rather incredulous and far-fetched. One thing you learn as a writer is that truth IS stranger than fiction, and sometimes makes for poor stories. "Oh, that's not very believable," says your average reader, and off they go to read Steven King.

Oh, I did write about Tony Bumper somewhat, and I was starting a good clip there, but then life happened in the form of difficulty, death, sickness, and tragedy. I would have to say this was the worst year I have had in a while. There are other years that are marked like haunting gravestones in my life.

1982: Suicide attempts, my father's cruelest abuse, my mother' heaviest drinking.
1987: My mother' suicide, the mental hospital, losing my home, job, and best friend (the last three in one month!).
1991: Losing my job and being unemployed for 2 years, being evicted and living in the projects, starving, bill collectors, Mikey died, Christine having a job that sent her home crying almost daily, and horrible depression.
2001: Christine breaks both her ankles, Oreo dies, CR has foot problems, my back is injured, 9/11, two narrow misses of layoffs, my brush with death with pneumonia.

2004 didn't seem as bad as any of those years, but I have had to deal with 3 deaths (two with relatives), near layoffs, severe money problems, and a host of friends with problems and deaths of their own. So it's up there. But like so many bad years, a lot of "minor casualties" get buried under the suffocating black clouds of the larger tragedies.

My writing was one of them. I was supposed to have a final draft of my new book done by the end of December, but that's not going to happen. I don't even know about next year, I am too scared to see what happens next.

Want to known one of the weird things? One of those "unlikely fiction scenarios" is the truth: I know of someone who actually, according to her boyfriend, prints out my blogs. It's people like her I feel most like apologizing to, because even though she probably didn't know it, her mini "rah rah: attitude, the e-mails, plus links to writing ideas, kept me from giving up.

She linked to something called NaNoWriMo, a kind of contest to write a small novel in one month. I had heard about it on Hissyfit, and then on Sara A's board, but never actually investigated what it actually meant. Sadly, I only bothered to look it up last week, to find it's only for the month of November. Because of this, I decided to spend 2 hours writing anything, no matter how bad it was (as per the site's recommendation to "break through writers blocks by taking risks"), to see how many words and hour I could do. It did about 550 words/hour (don't ask for the text, it was as bad as the site warned it might be), which means NaNoWriMo is actually an achievable goal.

Too bad I have to wait until 2005.

This entry was originally posted at http://www.punkwalrus.com/blog/archives/00000676.html
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