I beam when I think of writing a novel. The thought of writing my own fictional masterpiece illuminates me, makes me feel whole. It’s enchanting. I feel like it’s something I’m supposed to do. The idea mesmerizes me, so what’s stopping me? Why am I sitting here, writing this entry, rather than working toward my dream?
That’s a good question.
You’ve probably heard that you need to chase your dreams to make them come true, and that there’s no time like the present. You can’t soar to success by sitting around, waiting for success to magically happen. There’s always going to be to be something to use as a barrier or an excuse. You can procrastinate your dreams for your entire life, but then you’re doomed to be miserable.
Excuses are inevitable. “Oh, I’ll wait until I watch the next episode of my favorite show.” Or, “I’ll wait until after Valentine’s Day.” Or, “I’ll wait until I finish this report.” There’s always an excuse. There will always be an excuse.
I’m a chronic procrastinator, and it bites me in the ass every waking moment. Yet, believe it or not, I hate procrastinating. I’d rather get my quarterly report done a week in advance, so I don’t forget about it and have to plug it out hours before it’s due. Then again, I’ll use that quarterly report as an excuse not to do something else I should be doing, something that could be much more fulfilling. Let’s be honest, a quarterly report is just a detailed description of everything you’re already doing. It really shouldn’t take that much time to write if you’re actually doing what you’re supposed to be doing.
The reason I’m not writing my novel at this very second is because, not only do I want to write a novel, but I want to write a novel right. I want it to be the perfect novel. And then I realize… if I keep thinking like that, then I’ll probably never write a novel.
I think that if I wait a month or two or six, then I’ll have read more books, I’ll have more life experience, so by default I’ll be better equipped to write the novel I’ve always dreamed of writing. And I suppose that’s true.
I look back at stories I started a year ago and, honestly, I hate them all. Every single one of them. The last thing I want is to write a novel and then hate it by the time I finish it. Writing takes time, and why invest my heart and soul into something I’m going to hate?
It’s bound to happen, anyway. Why? Because I’m 23 years old and I’m still breathing. I have a lot of life to left live, a lot of experiences to have, a lot of growth to make. I can only write with what experiences I’ve had in the present time. In six months, I’ll have had more experiences, so I’ll be more rounded and my writing will grow too.
I guess this is the reason many writers don’t start publishing until they’re in their thirties.
With age comes wisdom. I can’t stop writing in my twenties, because without writing I’m incomplete. Maybe one day I’ll get to the point to where I can write something without hating it once it’s finished. I’m just not there yet. I’m still young. I’m still learning.
What am I going to do about my problem? Well, I’m going to write. And I’m going to hate this post in a few months.
Perhaps I should start writing quarterly reports to keep track of my writing. It’s just something else to write.