So I started the NaNoWriMo thing yesterday. IT SUCKED. My brain feels like a soggy bit of newspaper. My writing is really really terrible. I mean, I worked in a bookstore for YEARS and read a lot of shitty novels thinking “shmeh, I am a better writer than that!” But apparently I AM NOT because OH MY GOD.
However, the novel isn’t the goal, really. Not this time around, anyhow. For me, the discipline is the goal. I have none. NONE! And I need some. So I am committed to sitting down and writing at least a thousand words of SOMETHING that’s not a blog post, a Facebook screed or the drivel I spew out in my imaginary internet clubhouse. No, these thousand words need to come out of my own brain. Which is a wasteland of 80s song lyrics and Jeopardy answers. There’s a recipe for success if ever there was one.
Could be that I just need a different approach. I realized long ago that I’m not exactly a creative artist, making up things that weren’t there before but more of an interpretive artist. I like to take things that already exist and change them, filter them through my own lens. I’m less Mozart and more Kanye, I suppose.