I think this writing-about-writing thing is working. In that I have been guilted in to starting my writing. Or maybe the funk of last week has lifted. Either way, I’ve come to a decision: I’m going to write crap. That doesn’t mean I’m purposely going to write badly (that happens all on its own, foks). What I mean is that I have an idea for a story that I know is bad. It’s really self-indulgent, to the point where my writing friend who I told the idea to said it sounds like a Mary Sue story. I’m going to try my hardest not to make my main character a Mary Sue, but the point is that the story line will probably interest no one but me.
I know it will never be published. And that’s kind of freeing, in a way. I don’t have to worry about what people will think, because NO ONE will ever see this story. On the other hand, I feel kind of guilty working on a story that will never see the light of day. But it’s good practice. And let’s face it, none of the novels I’ve written in the past or will write in the near future will probably see the light of day.
So that’s my big announcement. I’m going to keep up with my reading as well, but the Writing Progress box will return in all its glory in the next few days as I get my notes organized and begin my completely self-indulgent, crappy novel.
Am I going to tell you what it’s about? No. It’s stupid. It’s a romance plot. (Don’t misunderstand, that’s not what makes it stupid.) And it somehow feels too personal to describe to the Internet. I guess that’s a good writing lesson: if something feels too personal, then maybe too much of yourself or your fantasies are involved and you need to step back and look at it rationally. Or maybe not. Look at Stephanie Meyer.
