Something happened in this past month. Maybe it was the procrastination for my exams. Maybe it is just getting back to the keyboard, but I am inspired to write fiction for the first time in years. I spent today working on a book I stopped writing seven or more years ago, and I am liking where it is going.
At times, it pains me to reread some of my writing from these drafts. I tried too hard. I was trying to sound smart, using words that captured what I meant that other people would have to look up to understand.
Over the past years, I learned more. I write better now. I don’t feel the need to overcompensate with word choice. Telling a clear, engaging story is more important than the vocabulary I use. I remember obsessing over finding the right words instead of telling a complete story. This explains why I only ever managed to work on the main plot points in the book.
I know the significance of word choice, and it will be an important part of my later revision process. But what good are the perfect words if there is no story to carry them?
So I am working on building out the narrative, the structure, and the connective tissue between my key scenes. This book has been echoing around my head for my entire adult life.
Learning that the Crappy First Draft can and should be messy has helped. But writing every day has helped to remove some of the psychological roadblocks I put in place to protect myself.
Who knows if I will ever get anywhere with this project. For today, simply starting is more than enough.