This was a deep-breath undertaking, a desperate attempt to get back into the writing game. No splashy announcement. No cheerleaders recruited. Because I know myself.
See, once I start talking about something, I lose steam. Or I rest on my laurels. Or something. This time I was determined to plod along with the rest of the pack. Forget the novel, I would daily write something, anything.
At first it was straight discipline. Show up. Sit down. Write sentences. Follow-The-Daily-Prompt. Nothing creative, just words.
Wonder of wonders, the writing guilt vanished. I began to feel free.
A week in, something else happened. I began jotting ideas for my Darcy comic novel, fresh ideas, things I’d never thought of. I tried stuff. I had fun. I deleted older pages that plodded.
So I ended January with 7,000 finished words under my belt. Two chapters for the book, with a lot more in outline form. I have direction. I have vision. I can write during the school year. Hooray, I can do what I encourage my writing students to do.
Yes, hope is again alive and well. All because I showed up every day to write.