Writing: Life Gets In the Way

In November last year, I participated for the first time in the annual NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) event, using the seed of a story I'd already begun many months before of around 7k words. Since the goal of NaNoWriMo is 50k, that gave me a bit of a head start, which was a good thing, since Thanksgiving really threw a wrench into the last week of the month, and I was unable to get many hours into writing, but I did finish, and I finished with over 51k words of a novel I was proud of.

It was a first draft, of course, and needed revision and editing, but I had finally finished a novel. It was far and away the longest thing I'd ever written before. But more than that, it was the beginning of what will be a series because the story wasn't finished. This book had come to what I felt was a natural conclusion – I told the story I wanted to tell and set things up for more stories to come. The seeds were planted, and all I have to do now is nurture them.

I drew maps, I camp up with cultural events, the concepts of societies that don't yet exist in this book to carry into future ones... and then I took a part-time job. (sigh) Life is a funny old thing.

Since I was in grade school, I've wanted to write. And I did write: terrible short stories I'm pretty sure are lost to history (I hope), bad and angsty teenage poetry (that I do still have), the odd assortment of unpublished essays, blog posts, a published magazine article and essay, two completed children's books in need of illustrations, a self-published nonfiction book (Creating an Heirloom), and any number of works in progress. With this new job and my daughter now out of school, I don't know what my writing life is going to look like.

Years ago, after reading one of Christopher Moore's books, I sent him a very fangirlish email and told him how much I loved his writing. I don't know exactly what I said in the email, but I do remember his reply because it was encouraging: he said he didn't start writing until he was in his 30s (I was in my 20s when I wrote to him). Even with than encouragement, I still sat on my butt for years and did nothing about it. I had hours while The Kid was in school to sit and type furiously, but other things got in my way (namely, me).

So what do I do now?

I'll muddle along as I have, stealing hours where I can for writing, and try to adjust my hours at work to reach some sort of equilibrium between work/home/life. And maybe I'll even get my first novel published someday...