I wanted to write a little about myself, in particular, my in-progress writing projects. I’ve been writing fiction since I was a kid. The first story I remember writing was in the style of If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, which was called If You Give a Cat a Strawberry. Everything is better with cats.
In high school I wrote bad, angst-ridden poetry on index cards and then forced all my friends to read them. I had an online diary back then on diary-x, which burned to ash when the site crashed. In college I learned to write poetry better, and had one published on a literary website. That’s gone, too.
After college I wrote technical pieces for the blog of whatever company I was working for at the time. The short, technical writing lead me to write for a few larger publications, the highlight being FastCompany. I’d like to do more of this kind of writing in the future.
The Young Adult Novel
Meanwhile, I tried to do Nanowrimo upwards of seven times before finally winning one year with a young adult science fiction novel. I spent the next few years editing the novel until it became a chore. I wanted it to be perfect. I struggled with every word and thought and re-through the plot during my showers. Every time I worked on it, I felt this burden of wanting to scrap and rewrite most of it. This “scrap it” concept battled with strong attachments to my characters and wrestling with how to best present my theme in this sci-fi setting. And the constant wondering how to “up the stakes” in this thing. Finally, I gave myself permission to put it aside and start something new.
Untitled Fiction Novel
I’m not even sure what novel to put this beast into. I call it a “beast” not because I’ve written a lot of words, but because it represents a beast in my mind that needs to get out on paper. When I lived in New York, I worked for a bizarre company. There is more than enough in my memories alone to fill a book, but I’ve been working on putting a fictional narrative together. Revisiting this experience is hard. Not because it was necessarily a bad experience, but that I loved living in New York so much that thinking about it hurts my soul. Sometime I’ll have to revisit my old (paper) journal entries to help me put my memories in order. I want to keep that book, and those feelings, locked up.
The day I got the keys to my NYC apartment, I took a selfie. Look how happy I was. This is the sort of writing you know you need to do but put off because it hurts.