I haven't written a word of fiction in eight years.
(Unless you count plot outlines for characters in a textbook, which, frankly, I don't.)
In college my major was creative writing, which according to every reputable writer, is the worst possible major to have if you want to write. But several reputable writers were creative writing majors, so there you go.
In any case, if I could go back and change things, I wouldn't. (Except for all those art classes I should have taken.)
Since then, I've read a lot of books. And I've read a lot of books about writing. And lately I've been following writers who blog about writing. And yet I've continued to do a whole lot of not-writing.
But something has been percolating for a while. I've felt it stirring in the back of my mind, and felt a pull in my stomach like a suppressed desire.
And then a few days ago Stephanie wrote a compelling post about National Novel Writing Month. I'd heard about the event last year, and thought hmmm... and this year, well, it clicked for me.
The great thing about NaNoWriMo is that all you have to do is write 50,000 words of utter drivel. It doesn't have to be great, or even good, writing. It just has to exist. By the end of November.
I've accumulated a long list of reasons why I couldn't / shouldn't try to write anymore. But ultimately it doesn't matter if I'm as bad at it as I think I am. It's just for fun, and just for myself, and the tingle of anticipation in my tummy tells me this is something I genuinely want to do.
Wish me luck!