Well I did it. I started writing a book and as of today I have 6,699 words written. I’ve set a goal of 50, 000 and so that leaves me with a quick 43, 301 words to go.
This is slightly daunting to say the least. However I began this week with a goal of writing 500 words and wrote 1, 273 in the last day alone.
So it’s not that I don’t have enough to say but it’s going to be the organization of the chaos spilling forth that will be difficult. Also while mulling this over I demolished a box of chocolate almonds. That’s what good writers do, right? They struggle, muse, wonder aloud, and munch on whatever’s handy.
I need to replace the candy with tea or coffee and sip instead of munch otherwise, published author or not, I’ll need a significantly bigger jacket for my book so as to fit my face. There is chocolate everywhere right now; Easter is worse than Valentine’s Day. I think it’s because it is an actual holiday, is not a made up event, lasts a lot longer, and the Easter Bunny is clearly not concerned in the least with diabetes.
Also I could probably Google this but how did the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ turn into a bunny hiding eggs and chocolate? What am I missing here? Jesus died for the sins of his people and from there someone thought: “Man, that is the ultimate sacrifice but what would a bunny do?” And then from there jumped to: “He would hide eggs and chocolate.” That’s it. Jesus was crucified on the cross and oh hey, here’s a Crème Egg.
I don’t mean to be blasphemous in the least or make light of the holiday as I know it’s an important one for many. I just don’t get the connection.
Also do you see how my mind works? Tell this mind to write a book, and watch it go but then try organizing it. Sigh. I have given myself a year to write 50, 000 words but I feel I will also have to set aside some significant editing time. I have toyed with the idea, at less than 10, 000 words, of sending what I have so far to a friend or two to let them read it and get some feedback but the thought scares me a little or maybe even a lot. The book I’m writing is a memoir of sorts and so it’s quite personal. I can talk to you ad nauseam about whether or not I’ll let a stranger season my breasts* – but sharing this ‘book’, in it’s infantile state leaves me feeling more than a little vulnerable.
What I need to remember, and maybe something we all need reminding of from time to time, is vulnerability is a far worse (minor) discomfort than that of regret.
I need more almonds…
*see previous post 🙂