Picking The Pen Back Up

I stopped writing for about two years.

I didn’t want to stop writing, life just happened. And then it kept happening. And kept happening. Somehow, it was much easier to find the time to write as a college student, which sounds bizarre. I stayed busy in college, as college students tend to do. But I had a lot of idle time in between classes. Before I started writing in earnest, probably around my junior year, I just walked around campus playing Pokemon Go. I got tired of that quickly, as it took a while for updates of substance to release. It became a habit more than anything else.

But once I started writing and working on Campfire, that idle time became busy time. I’d write fiction or work on any number of the things that needed to be done at Campfire (it was a small 2-3 person start-up then). It was great, I had tons of built-in time to work and write where I wasn’t distracted by video games or social activities.

After graduating, I started working full-time. (In a more traditional sense, that is, I was easily putting in upwards of 40 hours on Campfire stuff on some weeks pre-graduation.) With the work day done, I didn’t feel like writing. My brain was worn out and I’d rather play video games, spend time with my girlfriend, or watch TV.

At the same time, I had moved out of my parent’s house for the first time. There was loads to do from decorating a new place, to making all the mistakes a young adult has to when they first move out, to fixing said mistakes… It felt like errands became never ending which only contributed to my exhaustion.

I’d dabble with my project here and there when inspiration struck. I’ve plucked away at my second manuscript for a while, but I do think part of the problem was not being totally sure what I wanted to do with it. It started out as “The Coin Story” (not a really title, just how I’d refer to it) and I wanted it to be a cool urban fantasy. As I wrote, I found myself doing what I usually do, adding in jokes and silly circumstances. I’ve always thought cryptids were fun and Florida Man was an ever-circulating meme on the internet. So I leaned into that angle, morphing it into this humorous… urban fantasy… with horror elements. It was weird. I didn’t know what I was trying to do with it, which only made me work on it less.

But in the meantime, I thought about it. I thought about it all the time over the last two years. Whatever goblins live inside my brain that keep everything functioning properly did their job, I suppose, because the story gradually worked itself out. I deleted massive portions of it (something that I rarely do when writing) and reworked the whole idea into what it is currently.

Last summer (maybe June, 2022), I plotted the whole thing out. Again… something I rarely do. This helped and hurt at the same time. It helped because I could see all the working pieces and could make it a cohesive, solid story. But it hurt because my brain thought I’d done it. Those little goblins fed me the dopamine when I finished outlining and told my brain that was good enough. No need to actually write it. We just finished it.

So I found other ways to keep myself busy. I remodeled my home, I played Elden Ring (which took me something like 70 hours over the course of a year to actually finish), and threw myself even more into my work at Campfire. I left the habit of writing behind entirely, all the while occasionally thinking of new story ideas I wanted to write.

I knew how dangerous that was, so I wrote them down, but refrained from working on them in earnest. I knew if I started a new project, I’d never actually finish “The Coin Story”. But instead of buckling down and finishing it… I did nothing.

In hindsight, I still think I made the right decision. I knew the story was working, that wasn’t the issue. I was just being lazy. Not lazy as in doing nothing, lazy as in not finding the time to do the work. If I started a new project, I’d get tired of it eventually, and start another, leaving a wake of half-finished projects in my wake.

That’s not who I am.

I’d rather it take me years to finish something than to abandon it. (Again, specifically when I know it’s good. If something isn’t working, it’s always good to know when to call it quits.)

This past weekend, I sat down and wrote for three hours at a coffee shop and wrote about 3,000 words. I’m pretty consistent, if I spend an hour writing and generally know what’s going to happen in the bit I’m working on, I can get a thousand words an hour.

I’m actively deciding to spend less time doing easy things that are unfulfilling, and deciding to spend more time doing hard things that are fulfilling. Instead of watching sitcoms I’ve seen before, I’m writing. Instead of scrolling through Steam lamenting that there’s no new video games I’d like to play, I’m writing. If a game or show comes out I want to watch, I’ll watch it. I’m not giving up hobbies I love altogether. But I’m choosing to be more vigilant about how I’m spending my time.

I may not have easy, built-in idle time like I did in college. There’s still errands to run and life happens, and I embrace it when it does. But if I sacrifice the things I don’t like doing, things that make me feel bad like spending an evening re-watching a season of Psych, then I can dedicate that time to writing. Which feels amazing. You know how chronic runners get anxious if they don’t get their jog in for the day? It’s like that. If I don’t exercise my writing muscles, I’m anxious. After I’m done writing, it feels amazing. It’s my own version of runner’s high.

Anyway, I aim for each chapter to be about a thousand words long, give or take a few. Assuming I keep to that average, that means with 36 chapters left (some even have a little bit of old words left I can reuse).

36 hours to go until I have a completed first draft!

And here’s your reward for reading. A picture of my pug, Gill-Mo.

Yes, he is very handsome. Thank you for saying so.