I’ve got big news to share today.
Okay, big to me. You might not care. But it’s my blog so if it’s exciting to me I guess I get to label it such and that’s that.
I cannot tell you how long I’ve toyed with the idea of talking about The Project out loud on the interwebs. It’s so, so exciting, but also incredibly daunting. I mean, what if I fail? Worse, what if I fail and everyone can see?
But I want to be honest, and I want to be brave. Today is a Monday like any other, and I don’t feel particularly brave but I’m going to fake it ‘til I make it. And then later I’m going to have some wine; I’m about 1,001% sure wine makes me ballsier.
So. The Project. I’ve dropped a few vague, awkward hints recently about a new big idea, a new intimidating, challenging, crazy-as-heck dream. Subtlety isn’t my color, so maybe you’ve noticed. Today I decided to put my big girl panties on and talk about it out loud to people who aren’t my mom, or my husband, or Juliette, or Faith, or my non-blogging best friend Caitlin. Because talking about it makes it real, and if it’s real then people know about it, and if people know about it I can’t very well give up when the going gets tough, can I?
I am writing a book.
No. Not kind of. I am. (Be brave, Self).
I am writing a book. I’ve been working on it for about a month now and I’m up to about 10,000 words of a (very) rough manuscript and I’m so excited and it’s basically all I can think about these days. I’m not sure how many secrets I want to divulge just yet, but I’ll give you a few: it’s fiction, it’s about young adults (but not like the teenager-y kind, like the early- to mid-twenties kind) and it’s set sometime in the future. Here’s a little one-sentence synopsis I’ve been using to keep my writing on track: Amid a crumbling futuristic society, a group of strangers embarks on the hunt for a long-lost treasure shrouded in myths of sinister hauntings, curses and murder.
Even as I type this my brain is shouting, “But wait, there’s more!” and I have to tell it to shut up because honestly at this point, a lot of the ideas I have aren’t even halfway, let alone fully formed. So I’ll leave it at that.
It may not even amount to anything at all, and I’ve got to keep telling myself that even if that happens, it’s okay. My value as a human does not lie in some fictional world. Furthermore, no writing experience is wasted, ever. It can only make me better. I’m just trying not to think about what happens after the rough draft is done and the manuscript has been edited and all the big, scary What Ifs that follow. I’m trying to focus on telling the best story I can, becoming a better writer and having fun while doing so.
So there you have it. The Project.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to pour myself a glass of that bravery-bolstering wine.