Short story diaries: Vol. 1

This week I’m set to begin work on my collected short stories. And yet it dawns on me that instead of starting that work, I am writing this diary entry on writing a book. You could prescribe it as the ultimate form of procrastination, but I see it as a way to set myself up with success by announcing to the world my plans.

I also thought it would be helpful for anyone else writing something creative to get a peek into what my journey is like. I’m sure some days or weeks I’ll be utterly uninspired and other days I’ll report back great findings. 

Today I started Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë, which I am long overdue to read. It’s an icy day in my city, which is a welcome, unusual change, but doesn’t really inspire me to do anything but be a total loaf. I’m not sure if writing will be harder or easier this week with the holiday and the lethargic weather. I’m hoping that by reading something classic, I’ll feel inspired to pen my  own.

We’ll see!

Last month I started work on the prologue for my short story collection. I was taking a Dark Angels foundation course, which work compensated, and I wrote the first 750 words. I was surprised at the ease in which the first 750 words came, given that I don’t know the names of any of my characters yet or the stories in the book; but I suppose beginnings were always easiest for me, as I’m most practiced at them.

My goal is to finish the prologue this week. I haven’t been disciplined in my creative writing for years, so it will be interesting to see how I fare, what with the snow and ice and three-day weekend—not to mention neverending pandemic—dulling my motivations. But I’m determined to keep at it, if only to offer something to look forward to now that I’ve been told I’ll be working from home till September. (For the record, I don’t mind working from home and actually prefer it, but for some reason being told I must stay home versus choosing to do so seems to make it less liberating.)

If I’m being honest, I probably won’t begin writing today. There’s more snow than I’ve ever seen in this city and I just want to cozy up under a pile of blankets to enjoy this unorthodox day. But given we’ve all been stuck home for so long, I guess it doesn’t feel as rewarding as it should, since I sit at home so often!

I wish I could tell you dear reader what I’ll do—will I write today? Unlike a good writer, I don’t know the ending here. Every other paragraph I shift between writing today and not writing today. I think that’s probably half the battle with anything, not just writing. Starting. And keeping at it after the first letter!

Perhaps in my next diary entry we’ll both know more.