Currently we’re sitting at about 20,000 words, a decent count for just over a month’s work.
My current romance project has me thinking, why did I lean so heavily into my stories of grief and loss? Of pain and trials? Certainly, it makes for a good story simply because of the conflict that comes of that, but it was something more. I was working under the assumption that a sad story is a good story.
It took two years, but here I am finally putting a piece of fiction up here. I often write a couple hundred words here or there – little snippets that don’t become anything – and I wanted to put them up here for the longest time.
I have been ignoring my blog, for all the usual life reasons, but usually it just comes from me not having very much to say. Well. I did a bit of travelling and now I got tons to say, hello.
Not only have my own first times been on my mind, but also everyone else’s. Everyone whose first time involves me. Any kind of first. First Kiss. First Colleague. First Friend. The intense interconnection of all of us, of everyone I know.
Why is writing emotions so difficult? What can we discover through doing it?
What does it mean to be a writer? Why is it so hard to consider ourselves as writers?