It has been a year since I'd written anything of real content, otherwise known as a book or short story. At first, I wasn't writing because I simply did not have the time. Then as I got a handle on the rest of my life, I was either uninspired, tired or both. When it came to not writing, I was fine with not writing anything for the first eight or so months.
I had a few ideas, but nothing that I was pleased with the idea of seeing through. Some ideas I would jot down. Other ideas I would think about, work out in my mind and either attempt to start or forget about all together.
Still I was not worried. With summer approaching, I knew that I had a few months to rest, relax and get my act together. Everything was going to work out well, I was convinced of this. June brought with it bad news, shock, disappointment and despair. It was hard enough for me to get out of bed, let alone think about writing (or drawing). I was consumed with worry. However, I was over a month into a rigorous walking routine and I had a 40-pound personal trainer that was not about to let me give up the routine. I came to the conclusion that if I wasn't going to do or accomplish anything else, I was going to continue to keep working on getting into better shape.
As I approached the one year mark, I started to grow concerned, eventually voicing my concern to my support network of friends and family. All of them were supportive and felt confident that I was going to come around and put out another book. There was a mixture of "don't worry about it" and "sit down and get to writing." Both were sound pieces of advice.
I'd started a book,which I was convinced was going to be a best seller. As I kept forcing myself to work on it, I came to the realization that my heart was not into the story I was trying to tell. Reading through what I'd written, I felt the story was boring and the characters were flat.
This was all right with me, because I had another idea that I'd been working through on my walks. The subject matter would be controversial by some, something others could relate to, characters of varied age difference and type falling in love unlike anything else I'd ever seen before. I had some great ideas and still feel confident it will make a great book someday. Who knows? It might be the one I complete next. Again, I found myself forcing myself to work on this book. I had more plot holes and gaps than I did for a story line. Before I forced it into crap, I decided that I was going to abandon it. This was only providing I could figure out something else to do.
There were two ideas on my board, one of which I wanted to do, however all these wonderful ideas I'd had for the book I never took the time to write down. I'd talked them out and shared them right out of my head. The other was a book I am determined to complete within this next year. Neither were going to happen.
I decided that I wanted or even needed to take something I started and finish it. Immediately I knew what book I wanted to finish. It was one that I'd always wanted to finish. I started reading through and making several edits. Before I knew it, I was writing and doubling the size, also making it to my (superstitious) magic number of words for a successful book completion.
Here's to hoping for the completion.