Post #2 - Why, though?
Okay, so I’m writing a novel. “But why?” I’m glad you asked.
With such a large undertaking, it might sound like something I’d like to accomplish just to say I did it. Posterity and bragging rights can be tantalizing goals. You might liken this drive to training for and completing a marathon; many of us commit to this ridiculous physical act of running 26 miles just to prove to ourselves (and others) that we can. I can say that because I’ve been one of those people. I didn’t like it—too far for me to run and actually enjoy it. I digress.
See, I love the idea of crafting a full-length novel, (hopefully) getting it published, and having at least one person read it. But it’s not simply for the sake of doing something challenging. If I wanted to just willy-nilly write a book, I could throw together 100,000 words that more or less form a story, and then self-publish. Mission accomplished.
However, I don’t want merely to write a book. I desire to create something of which I can be proud. I want to pour my essence into this story, dredge up the fears and dreams tucked away in the nether-regions of my mind, and inject them into a visceral, living entity. Hmm, it sounds a little like I intend to reanimate a corpse…but I don’t—I promise.
Anyway, the point is that I’m all-frickin’-in. It’s going to be messy. I’m not going to be perfect. There will be victories and disasters along the way. But I am committing myself to producing my best work, whatever that may be.
I’m already seeing how this creative process is growing me as a person. I look forward to taking another step, and then another, and then another. Whenever the end result arrives, I want to be confident that I “left it all out on the field,” so to speak.
“But why this whole website, blog, and YouTube channel? Seems like a lot of hullabaloo.” You’re absolutely right. It is a lot. And, normally, when setting out into the unknown and trying something scary, I wouldn’t want anyone to watch. My fear of failure, rejection, and shame is top-notch (let me tell ya). But you know what? I need other people. I need a cheering section. I might end up crashing and burning, but I’d rather do that alongside my friends, family, and other compatriots than alone.
I just remembered another impetus for writing this novel:
We’re all going to die.
A portion of the world may be poised to tell me I’ll never make it, that my dreams are futile/foolish/naive, that my ideas suck, that I shouldn’t “quit my day job.” But you know what? I have already considered the worst-case scenario. I’ve already listened to my inner critic, shouting in my ear that I’m not smart/diligent/capable enough to do something like this. And guess what? I’m not listening anymore. There is no guarantee of “success,” but I’d rather try and fail miserably than never start and spend my deteriorating years wondering, “What if…?” I’m done worrying so much about doing everything flawlessly the first time that I never even take the first step.
This is the beginning of the end.
Let’s get this.
