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interior autumn's right on time
Sep. 27th, 2023 10:53 amcreative writing may have made its way into my cycle of hyper-fixations. i looked up listicles for best pens and bought a few on amazon, plus mechanical pencils per margot's recommendation. it reminded me of the feeling of having new school supplies, which i always found so pleasing despite the despair of the summer ending. it must have something to do with unspoiled potential and possibility. there was no saying these crisp no. 2 pencils wouldn't forge clear, logical mathematical formulas unmarred by the frantic eraser flakes of self-doubt. this shining metal compass might be the instrument that fulfills its name and grants me understanding of geometry.
on my lunch hour, i went to target and bought more pens, more mechanical pencils, and pastel post-it notes to lay out my novel on the wall behind my writing desk (margot, savior and angel, took it out of its box and put together for me). i loaded up my novel's pinterest with new pictures from marfa, tx and truth and consequences, nm. so far none of these tools have really helped me write more or better, but it feels like they're part of the ritual of re-entering my story, which is necessary and a distinct shift in my thinking.
a few years ago, i first noticed that the mood to write overtakes me when autumn arrives. last year around this time, i was in the process of submitting two different short stories to 10+ different literary magazines. when i got a rejection from the only non-paying magazine on my list, i gave up submitting. it was disenchanting but necessary. it was the worst possible outcome of my efforts but helpful in the sense that i had to settle with myself whether or not i could be happy writing just to write. then came my first participation in nanowrimo, which i completed successfully and discovered decisively that, yes, this can make me happy even if no one ever reads it, much less pays for it.
the benefit is that i can take these breaks, that i can re-enter writing fresh each time, whereas if i were doing it professionally i would doubtlessly blow through deadlines and be the arch-nemesis of my career's momentum.
on my lunch hour, i went to target and bought more pens, more mechanical pencils, and pastel post-it notes to lay out my novel on the wall behind my writing desk (margot, savior and angel, took it out of its box and put together for me). i loaded up my novel's pinterest with new pictures from marfa, tx and truth and consequences, nm. so far none of these tools have really helped me write more or better, but it feels like they're part of the ritual of re-entering my story, which is necessary and a distinct shift in my thinking.
a few years ago, i first noticed that the mood to write overtakes me when autumn arrives. last year around this time, i was in the process of submitting two different short stories to 10+ different literary magazines. when i got a rejection from the only non-paying magazine on my list, i gave up submitting. it was disenchanting but necessary. it was the worst possible outcome of my efforts but helpful in the sense that i had to settle with myself whether or not i could be happy writing just to write. then came my first participation in nanowrimo, which i completed successfully and discovered decisively that, yes, this can make me happy even if no one ever reads it, much less pays for it.
the benefit is that i can take these breaks, that i can re-enter writing fresh each time, whereas if i were doing it professionally i would doubtlessly blow through deadlines and be the arch-nemesis of my career's momentum.