Before I begin today’s post, it’s confession time. Feel free to laugh at my lack of intelligence. Rachel already did.
Soooo I was planning way ahead and scheduling a couple of Motley Mondays weeks in advance (I wrote this one and next week’s one last Friday), which I don’t normally do. I had a third that I was scheduling as well, about dystopians. I was going to rant and rave about the things that seemed to be in most dystopians I’d read lately but that I didn’t think were necessary. To begin the post, I was putting in the definition of dystopian, just so that we were all on the same page.
I then realized that I was completely wrong about what a dystopian actually was, and the real definition cancelled out 95% of my arguments.
See, in my head, dystopians had to be set after some war or revolution or something, and have a different kind of government from what we had today. I didn’t realize that the literal definition of the word dystopian means that that government has to be corrupt, and that the world has to be a terrible mess. Or something like that. I was going to complain about all of the dystopians being like that. Turns out there’s a reason for it. I’m dumb.
I’ll give you a moment to stop laughing at me.
And now, the post.
At the moment, all around the writerly blogosphere, people are sharing their writing resolutions. I decided to mix things up and share about my writing revelation.
As you may already know, I attempted NaNoWriMo for the first time last year, and ended up with just over 10,000 words. I was pondering this number at some point after the event had concluded, and I had a revelation.
This is not my time to write.
I’m in a world filled with teenage writers. Writers who manage to fit it around their schoolwork and social lives and still churn out amazing books. I assumed that I would fit into that category as well.
But maybe not.
After doing NaNoWriMo, I realized something that I have always feared – I don’t have the capability to write a novel.
At the moment, that is.
Maybe I need more life experience. Maybe I need to give it more time. Maybe inspiration is just around the corner. Maybe I’m never going to end up writing a novel, which would break my heart. But right now, all I know is that I don’t fit into the same category as everyone else around here. At this current point in time, novel writing isn’t for me. I’ll probably still have ideas and write them down, and maybe even begin to develop them. But writing a novel is not high on my priority list at the moment. In fact, I’d say it’s all the way at the bottom. That could change tomorrow. That could change next year. That could change in fifty years. But right now, this is where I stand.
How do I feel about all of this? Bittersweet. I wish that I didn’t have a reason to write this post – that I’d succeeded at NaNo and that I was now facing the monstrous task of editing. But I’m glad that I realized this now, before the multiple failed attempts that I know would come if I hadn’t.
This is not my time to write. And I can live with that.