Yearly Words 2019

YEARLY TOTAL

Writing: 367,961

I’m not going to do much of a recap here; I haven’t read through all of my Weekly Words posts for 2019, and I think doing that is the only way I’ll get the kind of perspective that I’m craving, which will require some devotion of time that, at 1:42 AM, I don’t quite feel invested in committing to just now.

However.

All signs point to one overarching theme for my 2019, or at least one thing that I’m going to mention in this blog post: I need to have the means to extend my focus beyond my writing. Because writing is not enough.

It is, in and of itself, valuable and fulfilling and worth doing. But it is notsubstitute for everything else that I need. It’s not a substitute for socialising; it’s not a substitute for exercise; it’s not a substitute for R&R; it’s writing, and if I’ve learnt – or started to learn – one thing in 2019, it’s the importance of acknowledging things for what they are, rather than what they could be, or what I wish they would be. I like writing.

I hate just writing.

And my writing is going to suffer until I get some balance back.

Okay, one other thing that I learnt from 2019: I’m so fucking sick of myself and this has got to stop. There’s other shit going on in the world, and a lot of it is pretty interesting, even to me. I reckon it could be worth looking into.

Weekly Words initially started as a way for me to have some form of personal accountability for writing every day, to turn daily writing into a habit. If nothing else, I would at least be updating my Weekly Words blog post every day. Good in theory.

In practice?

Who the fuck cares about how much writing I didn’t do on X day? Or how exciting it was to break through writer’s block? Who wants to see this pattern repeat over and over and over again for SEVEN FUCKING YEARS? I honestly don’t know if any real-life people read this blog anymore, but I cannot blame any of the ones that I know at least used to for checking out. This blog is like a reality TV show about a mouse running in a wheel.

And okay, I care. I care about having a record of my experience as a writer, and that is the whole “thing” with this blog: writing about writing. Sometimes – very often in fact – there’s just fuck all going on; life is not a story, but if it was it would mostly be filler. Or my life at least, which does not make for good blog material.

But as I’ve realised, I don’t write for the sake of writing. I write for the sake of having a tool by which I can accomplish other things. I don’t revel in the construction and manipulation of language; I don’t particularly crave the tactile sensation of typing on a keyboard or writing on paper with a pen, pencil, or what-have-you. It’s a means to an end, and yes my joining the Mark Manson cult of Kantian pedantry means that this opinion makes me evil and shit but you know what, some things just aren’t that goddamn valuable to me and that’s how it is.

Writing is valuable to me because of what I get from doing it, not because I get to do writing.

And I’ve been trying to use it to get way too much, for way too long.

I guess, really, I don’t love writing for its own sake because it’s been so long since writing wasn’t this global substitute for literally everything else that one can do with one’s life; I treat it as a means to an end and, well, that is a bad thing. In this context. I think it’s fine to treat writing, and many other things, as means to ends instead of ends in and of themselves, depending on the context. But in mine, well, I think there’s room to appreciate writing for its own sake …

Or I can make room.

And, for the sake of my mental health, I don’t think it’s exaggerating to say that I need to.

I said that my 2020 New Year’s resolution was to tell a good story. It still is. But I think that telling this “good story” is going to involve me being able to look beyond myself to find it, and the same goes for this blog, and just myself in general. This is my blog, but that doesn’t mean it all has to – or should – be about me. Not least because I, like anyone else, am just not that fascinating all on my own.

But throw in some context, and maybe that’ll change. In fact I’m sure it will.

I gotta get some news in my life, man. I need to know what’s going on around me; I want to know. I want to participate.

And I think that Weekly Words might be over and done with.

I still like the idea of a monthly check-in, though, so I reckon I’ll keep that, and use that to tally up my writing efforts on this blog – I can keep my private records for the minutia. But going forward …

This is a writing blog. I want to make the most of that, expand on what that can mean, get to better understand what it does mean to me that I’m not admitting or embracing or considering. Writing is fascinating, as an art and as a field. And I’d like to be fascinated by it.

But you know what else is fascinating? Being part of a community. My interests span many different communities, and for reasons of anxiety or snobbishness or look fuck knows I really need to start going harder with this therapy stuff and get to the bottom of this, but my point is that I have steered clear of communities that could, potentially, be a great resource for me in many ways. I mean that’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Find people with whom you share a common interest and go from there? Might be something to it. Finally, I can share my D&D 5E ranger revisions with people who will understand the burning hatred that drives such an undertaking just as keenly as myself.

Also friendship and whatever.

But yeah – just like using writing as a means to too many ends has toxified my relationship to and perception of it, this blog has very much become a catch-all dumping ground for my brain, starved of appropriate and functional avenues for exploration and expression as it has been for so very, very long. And it’s time to start putting things right. This might mean starting more blogs; this might mean spending less time being a record-keeper for my own life. I’m definitely not stopping writing; I’ve just finished my re-readthrough of Bad Guys and have actually found it very insightful – I have a better idea of what the story needs from me, and also what it doesn’t need. And that’s going to be a long commitment, one that I’m willing to make now that I’ve accepted it for what it is: a process that I was a little, let’s say, optimistic to try and measure out in months. This might take a while – I’m counting on it. And I’m ready for it.

But there’s the rest of it all as well, everything else I need and have missed out on this past year, a lack that perhaps I feel more keenly for how much I’ve been pushing myself to find it. And that has no place on this blog.

It’s time to engage, spread out, dive in, and be willing to not keep track of every minute experiential detail for the sake of having the goddamn experience itself.

And once I get used to that, maybe my true love of writing will come back to me. But first, I think I need to be willing to let it go, for the chance that it’ll come back.

This plan is risky-sounding, but it’s something that I care about. I’ve been waiting, longing, hoping for a project to come along that I cared about enough to risk fucking it up for the chance of getting it right.

Perhaps I was the project all along.

Okay there’s no way I don’t enjoy writing for its own sake, even given how badly I’ve handled it over the years; I get to write cheesy shit like that whenever I want as a writer. Can’t put a price on that.

Happy New Year!

… also HOW THE FUCK DID I WRITE MORE THIS YEAR THAN LAST YEAR.

Complaining. I did a lot of complaining this year. That must be it.

Also I guess I did write an entire novel? But I wrote an entire 50% of a teleplay last year …

Look whatever I guess the moral of the story is that even when I suck at writing I’m fucking amazing at writing guess I’m just doomed to be a baller-ass writer for the rest of eternity I guess that’s okay …

 

Hmm. Hmmmmmm.

It’s been 13 months and my shitty YA werewolf novel still isn’t finished. But it does stand at 69k words, which is an accomplishment in and of itself.

More to the point for my sense of accomplishment, though, is the fact that it really hasn’t registered at all just how much work I got done with this thing. This completely impulsive, relatively shallow writing experiment that, while I’ve been “working on it” for 13 months, that’s really been 2 periods of intensive writing with huge, months-long gaps between them. Basically, I wrote 69k words in 3 months. And considering that I’ve been doing my Masters for all of that time …

I mean seriously, that’s a pretty fucking big achievement.

I am going to try and acknowledge it.

And also, given some rather exciting – and slightly terrifying – news that I got today (yesterday whatever fuck you am/pm threshold), I’m going to really try and believe in my capacity to multitask. To believe that I can do my MA, and write a novel, and do this other thing that I’m going to be doing that I will say more about when things are more finalised and official and shit … all at once.

The shitty YA werewolf thing – the reason I keep calling it that is because it is shit. It’s bad. It’s un-good. But the process of writing it has been awesome, even after the novelty wore off. It’s the process that I fell in love with, and as much as I’m on the edge of being very anxious about this new life-event stuff, it’s also an opportunity to dive head-first into another process, just this time a much more complicated and consequential one, because it doesn’t only affect me. This is an opportunity for me to push myself, to see how far I can take my dedication to process for the sake of process, and to really start to enjoy it. I think I will. I am just worried that I’ll hold myself back and lose momentum and … well, all the usual crap one thinks when one has anxiety.

But I’m still excited. I’m so excited that I’m considering going back to Tallulah, just because I want to get it written, I want it to work, I might be able to make it work idea-wise now – so all that’s left is the process. And if I’m going ham on process for the rest of the year – discipline, I guess, is the word I’m really looking for – then I would love it if Tallulah could benefit from it.

A lot could go wrong here, but that’s also kind of why I’m excited, because this is a chance to get it right instead. Put one on the map for my self-initiated anti-anxiety treatment. And to be honest, I have wanted for so, so long to just go really full-on with something challenging. Too long, maybe. But I guess so long as you get there eventually …

In the meantime, I’m going to try and start off with my current writing project and see if I want to stick with it – if not, welcome back Tallulah. And hell, maybe welcome back Tallulah regardless. Because I think I’ve got it as well worked-out as it will ever be without it turning into another ROTM, and much as I want to get it right, I also want to get it done. The process is what I’m going to take with me – at some point, I’m going to have to leave every single one of my stories behind. I’m going to have to be done with them. And I think I’m finally getting okay with the idea that Tallulah might not be as good as I fantasise about it being. It could just be done. And that would be brilliant in and of itself.

So yeah. Excited. Doubtful, hesitant, but that’s to be expected at this point. Comes with the territory. And it doesn’t stop me from feeling excited …

Almost like being a teenager again, when I still cared about things, much as it pained me. Only in a good way this time, because I’m not actually a teenager. Silver linings.

… but I don’t *want* to.

Happy New Year’s Eve everyone.

It’s that time when many of us start thinking of resolutions to take forward into the new year. Sometimes we stick with them, most of the time we don’t, but it’s a fun little ritual nonetheless. I assume it’s fun at least, otherwise why the fuck does everybody try and pump themselves up to do it every year?

I do have some resolutions. One of them is to continue taking risks. I took some big risks this year and they all paid off in spades; I’m trying to get myself to be more open to risk-taking, not least for the fact that what I perceive as the threshold across which “riskiness” lies may not actually be accurate. It may be a lot further out than I think it is, and in fact I’m counting on it. But, of course, even if I do end up accidentally taking an actual risk – great! Learning to deal with risks and the inevitability of failure that comes with them is an important part of life; I haven’t gotten to that part of life yet, even at the dire age of 28, so I’d better get cracking.

Another: force myself to do things that I’d like to do. Sort of in the same vein as the first one, but something that I’ve learnt through writing my shitty YA werewolf Nano novel this year: it’s actually quite hard for me to follow my feelings without being hindered by my inner critic, but it’s something that I’m slowly loosening up about. My big rant last night about how I didn’t know what direction to go in with my novel really came down to the fact that there was no idea that really grabbed me, not even a cliche, problematic idea that I would secretly enjoy indulging in. Nothing. And when it comes to the first draft, nothing is always, always worse than bad. In fact nothing is as bad as it gets. Bad isn’t even bad, because the first draft is destined to turn into the second draft at some point, and even then that’s not where it ends; eventually it becomes the final draft, and that’s where you start worrying about good and bad, not before. Before that, it’s all just words, and words are all you need. And what I’ve learnt through writing this novel is that if I make myself write what I actually want to write, it works out pretty well. The problem I now face is that I actually don’t want anything, which is a new problem for me to face, but it’s a sign that at least I’ve progressed and am getting stuck further down the road than previously. This resolution doesn’t only concern writing, but writing is the safest example of it that I have to hand, so that’s where I’m going to start.

Yet another: seriously, keep on top of academic stuff. I had this huge resolution about not ever pulling an all-nighter again after the last one, and it looks like I’m setting myself for the third in as many months, and I don’t like it. It occurs to me that all the wisdom I’ve spouted over the years regarding how to get things done, at least in the academic world, is a pile of crap, and I might actually need outside help. Which is something I’ve actually never seriously considered. I guess I can file that away under “take more risks”. But more to the point is that, goddammit, I like academia. I enjoy academia. I really do. I love the feeling of finding a great piece of research and contemplating how it relates to my argument; I love finding an argument and grappling with it until we come to an intimate understanding of how to go forward together. Because, at the end of the day, it’s just another form of storytelling. And I want to remember how much I enjoy it. So my third resolution is less “keep on top of study workload” and more “allow myself to enjoy academia”. Because I’m allowed to enjoy it, even to the detriment of my creative writing projects. And that’s something I want to get used to the idea of.

Which brings me to the next resolution: seriously, remember that I’m not a Writer. I gave up that mantle last year and gained a whole world full of possibilities, and in the 12 months between then and now I’ve just filled it up again with Writing, and I don’t like it. All the other resolutions I’ve outlined above are really just ways to force that space to remain open so that I can fill it with other things, and even to let myself not write for extended periods of time, because I’m doing other stuff. Other stuff that I like. Because I do actually like to do things that aren’t writing. Or, rather, I’d like to try them out. I was exactly at this point last year when I had this big revelation, and I didn’t take advantage of it. Well, I’m going to take advantage of it. The day is long; the day is also hot because this is New Zealand and we’re getting to the beginning of Summer while the rest of the world is in the middle of Winter and also we don’t have an ozone layer, fun times for all. That is at least a small part of why I haven’t been as diligently working on my MA as I should have been.

Next up is probably the hardest one: make myself do things that I know I will regret not doing.

And yes, this would, in fact, cover things like “getting an early start on revising that MA chapter so that I don’t end up destroying my immune system from lack of sleep once a month”. But also things like making that terrible pun or joke that pops into my head, as soon as it pops into my head. Things like saying what I mean, or doing what I mean, instead of writing it off as pointless. And doing things that I’m obliged to do. Having said that, I’ve got to get better at declining to be obliged to do certain things more often. But that’s a very specific sphere of things that I want to stop feeling like I have to do. There’s another specific sphere of things that I do have to do, and that I want to prove to myself – and others – that I can, in fact, reliably get them done.

I guess, really, this resolution is “become a person that people can depend on”. Where “people” includes me. I don’t think I trust myself as much as I can afford to, and as a result of that I end up keeping myself from doing or trying to do certain things, because I think I’ll just fuck it up. Like this final batch of chapters for my Nano novel, or the time it’ll take to revise my MA chapter before submitting it to my supervisor on the evening of the 5th (or morning of the 6th, but let’s be optimistic). I want to discover that I’m actually someone who is capable of getting that shit done. So I’d better start discovering.

I always feel the urge to do something profound and insightful for big anniversary or milestone posts, like New Year’s, Christmas, my birthday, anniversaries of this blog, that sort of thing. I always feel inadequate when I can’t manage it. But at the end of the day, much as I like having this blog around to vent into and share some writing experiences through, it’s just a blog. I’m not some internet mogul whose every word is pored over and analysed for depth and nuance; I’m a part of the vocal fandom of the internet, the “prosumer” that media studies scholars (of which I am one, which is weird to think about) are wont to champion. And so, at last, I come to the final resolution for the new year, the 6th resolution of 2016.

Make this blog the blog I want it to be.

I don’t know what that is, but I know that I’d like it to be more considered, less insular; I’d like to feel like I’m a part of something, rather than just sharing the space. A little romantic perhaps, but why the hell not? I spend most of my time on the internet and isolated, and as a result I end up making resolutions like these all the time: responses to my own habituated lack of engagement with the wider world. I want to be more conscientious, and I think that’s what I want this blog to be, too: conscientious. A considered, intentional effort. I mean I’ll still vent like an exhaust pipe, because I’m still me, but woven between those typical posts I’d like to start seeing something a bit cleaner, and a bit more like the welcoming ritual of the Hero’s Journey that I wax lyrical about every so often, and the fact that what I love about it is that it feels inclusive.

I guess overall, my resolution is to do things that make me feel included, and I think the first step there is to start being inclusive.

And yes, that does include my writing.

Of which I aim to do a lot of in the new year, and every year after that. But not only writing. I think I’m done with only writing; I’ve had more than enough of that for one lifetime, and one lifetime is all I’ve got.

Happy New Year, everyone.

 

All I Want for Christmas is Words

Specifically, I want words to be added to the sum total of words contained within my various word-consisting-of projects, such as my MA and my shitty YA werewolf novel/writing exercise/vaguely-defined narrative ritual. Probably not today, because today is Christmas and family stuff happens on Christmas. But the day after that, definitely. Especially since that’s going to be the day that I have 10 days left to finish revising my MA chapter, and by “finish” I mean the other thing.

I have gone for a good nine years just really relishing Christmas when it rolls around, and that’s starting to wear off. It feels like an omen of one chapter of my life ending and another beginning, one where something else makes me all nostalgic and pleasantly wistful – or where I move on from such things altogether and find other forms of emotional sustenance. Either way, I think creating habits that make me feel empowered and invigorated is going to be the best present I can hope for.

Whatever it is you’re celebrating around this time of year: go with love, peace and fulfillment, and thanks for reading.

Nanowrimo 2015: Last Friday Night (9566)

So after my big three-year anniversary non-event post, I sat down and did some writing. I was hesitant at first – I wanted to rework the scene with the twist that had made everything seem clear at the time but now felt “too clever”, and was planning to revert back to something super-generic and contrived.

I didn’t do that.

What I did do was go back and rewrite the entire fucking chapter, and then basically double the original word count.

Last Friday Night (yesterday) I wrote 9566 words in just over 5 hours. And it felt fucking awesome, because not only was I writing for 5 hours, but the writing worked.

And I did change the scene. I just didn’t change it the way I thought I wanted to.

I actually kept the twist, and just twisted it into a more conventional shape – one that more resembled a story. And it’s working. I’m still not finished with that chapter; I don’t think I’ll do any writing this weekend, just to ensure that I actually have a break, but all I really need to write is the ending, which is the end of the … I have no idea how many acts I have. I might nut that out over the weekend. Shouldn’t be hard.

In fact, it should be very enjoyable.

Because writing “out of order” is proving to be very useful. Now that I’ve got this chapter all but written and I know it’s a transition from act X into act Y, and because I know that said transition will work in a story, I now have an actually pretty clear path forward from here: I have to find a way to make my story work around it and, because I was aiming for a storytelling exercise rather than a story per se, this new boundary around my creative freedom actually gives me a lot of cool opportunities, and forces me to make some quick, decisive … uh … decisions.

Anyway I’m looking forward to it and I think I’ve set myself up for something really cool.

This isn’t the kind of thing I could have done withTallulah, for instance, and that’s because Tallulah was a story I was working out as I wrote it. It wasn’t meant to be a writing exercise that turned into a story; it was meant to be Profound and Meaningful and Authentic, and if you look closely you’ll notice how none of those words are “story”, and that’s why it didn’t work. Which is also why I couldn’t have written it out of order like this Nano project. I wasn’t happy with convention and going by the books; I had Something To Say with Tallulah – I just couldn’t decide what. So what I’m thinking is that unless I can get to the point with Tallulah where I’m no longer hung-up on my own literary pretensions, it won’t ever get written, regardless of whether or not I’m “officially” writing it or not. Can’t tell a story that’s not a story.

Which is what this shitty YA werewolf thing appears to be after all, and I like it. After much trepidation and doubt, it seems that it’s actually turning out to be exactly what I hoped it would be: an exercise in coherent storytelling that I not only don’t have to think too hard about to make work quite effectively, but that is getting done pretty fast because everything that has to happen to make it feel like a proper story is, by and large, incredibly predictable. As they say, this one basically writes itself.

But not tonight, because I have Interview with the Vampire to read, not just because I’m into vampires enough to acknowledge that Anne Rice is probably someone whose work I should have at least some familiarity with, but also because I’m into vampire enough that I’m going to write about them someday, and this counts as research.

In the meantime my word count for Nanowrimo stands at 30531, which is pretty fucking impressive, even though over half of that was already written. The point is that this novel is three-fifths of the way done if I stick to the Nanowrimo limit, and while I expect it to be a tad longer than 50k words will allow, you never know. We’ll see what tomorrow’s planning yields.

Tomorrow. Sleep now. Or internet.

Probably internet, let’s be honest.

Nanowrimo 2015: Three Years of Writing About Writing

It was actually yesterday that I hit my 3-year anniversary with this blog, and I fully intended to write something to commemorate it. Instead I went to see Spectre with my family and, I have to say, I really wish we would stop endorsing James Bond as a cultural product. When people talk about the Mary Sue, they’re talking about James Bond (and not, ironically, the actual character Mary Sue who was the trope-namer): he’s always right, he’s got people tripping over themselves to please him while being the biggest asshole the world has ever seen, and even if he does make legitimate mistakes the story will always give him an easy way to “redeem” himself. Never mind the Bond Girls. When are people going to get sick of this shit?

But in any case, it’s been three years of doing whatever it is that I do on this blog, and Nanowrimo 2015 has taught me a few things already. One: huge realisations that you have in the middle of writing really seriously are not as good as sticking to your plan, so that big twist I surprised myself with the other day is getting probably written out for something far more generic.

Two: huge realisations that you have in the middle of writing are probably good for something – just not necessarily this thing. That big twist was not a good idea, but what it represented was absolutely vital to the story, because it told me what the story was. I just implemented it awkwardly.

Three: having something to write about really fucking helps when you have a blog that’s about writing. I haven’t updated this blog every single day this month, but it’s certainly more than I was doing – and with more to actually write about – than the past few months. Maybe even the past year. A lot of what ends up going on this site is the odd book review punctuated with dozens of “so I know I should be writing but here’s how guilty I feel about not doing that instead” posts. And I really am sick of doing that. I don’t like updating this blog when there’s nothing to report – and yes, I still think that it’s important to acknowledge the loops you can get trapped in as a writer, because that’s part of the reality of it. But it still feels shitty to write about, like it compounds the existing problems of guilt and being unproductive by turning it into a status report that I feel compelled to apologise and self-help my way out of. I like having an objective to report on, and not only does it give me something to blog about, but it’s a chance for me to find ways to make opportunities to have things to blog about – and write about. Got nothing to write? Find something. Be active in your own search for meaning. So I want to internalise this lesson and take it forward with me for however long it is that I keep this blog around. I know I said at one point that after 500 posts I was going to quit, but that was when I was still writing Tallulah.

Four: I think I’m still writing Tallulah.

I can’t fucking quit it. I’m definitely happy not writing it right now, because it was going nowhere and really getting me down. But doing Nanowrimo has recharged my batteries, and having an entirely different project to focus on is giving me all sorts of answers to sticky questions I had with Tallulah that, until now, I had no satisfactory answers to. So maybe after Nanowrimo. Or after the thing I write after Nanowrimo. But I can’t make myself stick to this resolution of giving up entirely on it and treating it as a dead project; I’m not taking it seriously, and I may as well admit it. I may as well listen to what I’m telling myself. There’s something in there that I absolutely love and want to make work, and while it’s definitely time for a real break, it’s not time to write it off completely.

That or I just lack conviction or whatever look I’m not in the mood for an existential crisis okay get off my back

So – yeah. I always wish these anniversary posts were a bit more profound, but I have nothing profound to say today. I didn’t really have anything profound to say yesterday, either.

I do have some things to write, though, and they’re all going better than they were this time last year. And that’s definitely worth commemorating.

Please accept my third thank-you for sticking with me, whether you’re new to the blog or have been here since the beginning. I do want to find a new tagline, since “writing about writing” isn’t exactly unique. But then again, the tagline isn’t the point. The writing is the point.

Guess I’ll go do that, then.