I'm writing a book!

I’ve been quiet on here for many years, and realistically I don’t see that changing much. Over a year ago I announced the blog content was changing and that I was no longer going to publish writing advice. That’s still true, and since I’ve now made it a “thing” that I’m writing my book, I’d rather devote time to that than keep the few readers who stuck around appraised. (Thanks if you’re one of them!) After all, I don’t do much anymore besides move about my house from room-to-room. Life becomes less eventful—ironically—in the middle of a global pandemic.

But I ramble too much! If you follow me on Instagram, where I’m far more active, you’ll have seen my announcement that I’m writing a book! (Again!).

As some of you may know, I’ve written books, screenplays, and more before, so in some ways this announcement isn’t all that new. Except for me, it’s much more than that. Previous attempts at writing books always fell flat because frankly I had no idea what I was doing or writing. I knew writing a book was something I wanted to do, and I had loads to say, but no interesting concept whatsover to go off of. So, I’d take a mediocre outline of an idea, run with it for 500+ pages, and churn out total crap. It was uninspired, unorganized, but it did a lot for my writing voice, and I’ll always be thankful for that.

(It’s why I am an advocate for NaNoWriMo for new writers and simultaneously an advocate against it for tenured writers. It doesn’t produce any creative work that is really good or meaningful long term, in my opinion. Though it does teach one how to write and learn their voice.)

This entire pandemic, I’ve known deep down it was a great time to write a novel, and also the worst time to write a novel. Since March I no longer have to go into the office for work anymore, and yet for the earlier months I was plagued with anxiety, so while I had all this extra time on my hands with working at home (no more commuting, namely), I couldn’t focus on anything but trash television and mindless entertainment.

(Also, I fell in love, which was a wonderful distraction, and he is very much worth it. If it was between writing nothing ever again and being with him, I’d choose the latter every time. But happily, I’ve worked out my mental space now so I can do both.)

Over time, the anxiety from the pandemic I was experiencing was gone, and I was out of excuses. And I still wasn’t writing. A few months ago I resolved to write again in 2021—a “fresh start” if you will. (Me and everyone else on the planet.)

I’d been marinating on a concept for a book for many years and actually written part of it. The two parts were the only two pieces of writing I’ve truly ever loved, felt proud of, and felt like “said something.” And if I’ve never made it clear, I truly believe all my writing must say something. It can’t just be strictly entertainment, and it can’t be obvious. It has to be like all the greats I’ve loved over the years, and challenge a reader and myself, and speak to morals and truisms, and the complexity of humanity and people. It’s a lot to unpack in writing, so it admittedly doesn’t surprise me that I avoid this task so much, enjoy it as I do.

I went back and read the two pieces I really loved this year, four years after I originally wrote them, and still loved them, so I knew they were good, and I knew I owed it to myself to eventually make something of them. But again, I was being an absolute loaf and coward about getting back to it! So I’d idly dream on how great the book would be, then still not write a single word.

Surprisingly, what kicked me into deciding to write again was rather simple—jealousy.

I’m a jealous person deep down. It’s one of my greater faults. I can be happy for those around me, but if I feel like someone I know (particularly people who I’m not as close to) who I see as rival or competitor (even if they’re still a friend or companion I wish well) is writing better words than me or “making it” in the industry as a writer, I get seething mad! It’s a nasty feeling, and I wanted to shake it off right away.

Usually my instincts are to default to negative comments, which really only make my jealousy all the more apparent. Instead, I did what Emma Woodhouse would do (I’m currently reading the Austen novel) and I admitted that after reading good writing by someone else I was jealous of, it was quite good. It was a hard pill to swallow, but then I took it a step further and decided to channel that jealousy into a sign that I really must do something about it all! How can I be jealous, when I’m not even working on anything?

So, I went public the next day about my book I’m writing, and now I’m announcing it here too. Like Greta Gerwig mentioned in her A24 interview with Barry Jenkins, I’m a big believer in putting out the work I want to do publicly, so I’m essentially bound to do it via public pressure. It’s always been effective for me, and hence, I’m sharing here with everyone that I am writing a book and hopefully in the future I’ll share more exciting, tangible updates than that!

As mentioned, you can read about it on Instagram, but here is the excerpt from the post which excites me most:

It's possible that this book is the only great work I produce and all that's available within me. But it's one I've been meaningfully pursuing as a concept since 2016, and I think it could be a good medicine for the world I live in.

If you're a lover of medieval literature (unlikely, as it's a niche passion of mine), you might recognize the hints I'm dropping with these two sources of inspiration. I've loved Chaucer since I first read a few of his tales in 2014. He's the underrated predecessor to Shakespeare, and a master of character. I owe him much. As for The Decameron, I've never read it, but remember being sincerely jealous of a girl who was taking a Boccaccio and Chaucer class at the same time, and now I plan to finally read it as inspiration. And how lucky am I to read it translated by a University of Texas professor at that!

Until then, I likely will go back to my quiet ways here! Or maybe I’ll share more progress. 2020 has shown itself to be an unpredictable year, and for all I know I’m back here tomorrow. (Though it’s not likely.)

Thank you to the far and few who still check in to the site. I owe it to you most of all!