Sleep mocks me. No matter how tired I am, I cannot seem to fall asleep before a witching hour each night.
I would blame just the wedding, but that’s not the sole culprit. Cycles of various topics, from wedding to work to wedding to writing to reading to wedding to life to friends to family and back again, all swirl through a mind refusing stubbornly to succumb to the most basic of primal human needs. And last night the item floating most through my cranium was one that lurks deeply.
Why haven’t I started it? Where would I start? How would it flow? Would I get a chapter in and decide it’s total shit and give up? Or would I just put something down to just start the process so I can quit guilting myself over my horrible procrastination of it?
Would I nit-pick the way I always do, writing a bit and then going back to edit viciously because GOD THAT SUCKED? Or could I possibly just let go and write? Effortlessly, the way that I am right now… oh, the irony.
I have an idea of what I want it to be. I even have some key basic chapters already written, but all out of order. And my mind can’t even process what would happen…either magical or disastrous… if I started to string them together. To fill in plot gaps. To build and mold a cohesive story.
Would it be told from a single perspective? Multiple? A narrative? Will I suck at writing out dialogue? Am I completely delusional for even thinking I possess an iota of the ability to call myself even close to that w word? A writer? me?
In all these murmurings, I know there is only one answer. Summed up so eloquently by a published author who spoke at Camp Mighty 2012.
Write the damn thing.