Today, July 1, marks 2015’s halfway point. I can’t believe we’re already halfway through the year. Each year gets shorter and shorter, and the reason for that, as my philosophy teacher once explained, is because each year is a smaller portion of your life. This year is 1/23 of my total lifetime thus far, so it will pass by more than five times faster than the year passed when I was four, since that year was only 1/4 of my life at the time. It makes sense when you put it that way.
Speaking of years, I was checking my blog stats earlier, and this will be my 17th blog for the year. I posted 16 blogs last year in 2014, so this post will put me ahead of my overall post count last year. Wahoo! That’s progress, despite the three months I lost. Blogging is still a challenge for me, and I hope I, once and for all, make this a regular habit. It’s not about becoming a famous blogger for me. I know I’m a long way away from that, and it’s never been my intention. If people read my blog, great. If they don’t, then that’s fine too.
Right now, I write for myself. It’s interesting to look back years later and see what I was thinking. I deeply regret throwing away some of my old diaries, merely because I was ashamed of what I’d written at the time. I was eleven at the time, and I, like most eleven year olds, thought everything was embarrassing.
For years, I’ve been afraid to be who I am in my writing. I’ve fought being a writer, as my mom pointed out to me not too long ago. I’ve been scared to share my writing with others. I write fanfic under an anonymous pen name and share that with the world, and that doesn’t bother me as much. They’re not my characters, for one. I’m using another writer’s creations, so it’s not as personal, though fanfic is still very personal to me. I’m anonymous, and I don’t share my fanfics with people I know in the real world, so it’s all good. I’ve received a lot of praise for my fanfic and several flames, too. The flames used to bother me, and they still do at times, but I’ve learned not to let them set me back. I won’t stop writing because someone doesn’t like what I write.
Coming out as a writer is scary, and it’s a bit daunting. I still haven’t shared much of my personal writing with anyone. I sent the prologue to one of my novels I’m working on to one of my fanfic friends recently. I’ve shared some posts on this blog to my Facebook. Sharing posts from this blog to Facebook is probably the biggest step I’ve taken to revealing my inner writer self to my family, friends, and colleagues.
I’m actively working on two novels, both stories have been part of my life for years. One character first spoke to me when I was nine years old, and I started writing about her in many of my early journals. The second story, which has two narrators, came to me after attending church camp when I was eleven.
I’ve written many versions of both stories, and I essentially know these characters in and out. I know their futures beyond what I intend to write. I know their whole life stories. However, I know I can’t incorporate all of these details into their story. I have to showcase the most interesting parts of their lives.
When I first mapped out their stories, I knew very little about the world around me. I was just a kid, so I’ve had to readjust and change aspects of their stories in order to make them believable.
Even if I’m not sure that these are going to be phenomenal novels when I complete them, and I’m not sure if anyone will want to read them, I do know they must be completed, in order for me to move forward as a writer. They must be written for me to fulfill my dream. They’re the characters I always resort to when I’m asked to write something original. In eleventh grade creative writing, I wrote a screenplay involving one of the characters. I attempted to write a NaNoWriMo novel twice with one of the stories, but never succeeded because November is always a chaotic time for me every year.
I know what I have to do. Now I just need to write.