© 2014 the Jotter’s Joint
Confession: I haven’t been writing, at least not in a fiction-novel-in-progress sort of way.
Of course I’ve captured conversations with my dudes that are humorous and notable, like:
S: How old is she again?
Me: She’s almost two.
S: Yeah. Right.
Me: Why?
S: Well, that’s why we’re keeping her away from the Legos. It’s a choking hazard till she’s three. You know because of all the small pieces.
Or this one:
Me: Do you want the last two books in the Sweetfarts trilogy?
N: I don’t know. No.
Me: They’re $1 on the Kindle right now.
N: I don’t know. I guess.
Me: Well would you read them? For a dollar each?
N: Okay. Go ahead. It’s your money. Spend it however you want.
Me: Gee thanks for giving me permission to spend my money on you.
Cute, right? Worth committing to paper for the sake of telling my future grandkids.
Confession: I haven’t written in the one-day-you’ll-be-a-published-author kind of way.
Hey, blogging is writing, right? Some of my posts have been longish of late, as I toy with sentence length, alliteration, and structure. My posts have ventured into new topics or maybe I should say, I’m not writing solely about writing (or not writing). Good, bad, or indifferent, I’m playing with language to share what’s on my mind.
Confession: I haven’t been writing in the sense of word count goals and manuscript deadlines. NaNoWriMo camps? What are those?
Sure my days are filled with endless forms of the written word: emails and tweets and Facebook posts.
I’ve engaged in rambling text conversations about homeschooling and teaching writing; about books on my “to read” list; and summer reading plans for my boys. Texts about grammar and Ted Talks; reminders and questions; random and fun; word bubbles and emoticons. Battling autocorrect when I want to intentionally misspell a word.
So much to say to so many people in a limited amount of time.
Confession: I haven’t written in terms of feeling like an artsy creative type; unworthy of the craft and tortured soul.
My first and only novel-in-progress remains at just over 40,000 words, which averages to be 10,000 words per year.
The new piece I wanted to start, stalled out because I tried to map it out. Poor Pantser me.
Accountability calls with writing partners have turned more social than productive. Well, when they attempt to steer conversation toward my writing life anyway.
How many times have I used a form of “write” in this post so far? Too many. I need to consult a thesaurus. I’m getting rusty and maybe language lazy.
Anyway, I digress.
Confession: I haven’t written in the butt-in-seat, every day way typical advice to writers.
Wait!
What?
Yes. Yes, I have written in the butt-in-seat, every day way, because I journal constantly; making notes of ideas that intrigue me; listing thoughts that challenge me. Jotting down phrases and words that may morph into blog posts.
What the heck?
I blog. I post. I send emails. I tweet. I text. I write down what my boys say. I even handwrite letters and thank you cards.
Does it matter what I write? No, of course not. What matters is the practice of writing, of thinking critically and creatively.
Writers write.
Writing is writing.
Don’t be fooled.
It starts small and it builds. It happens when you don’t affix the label “writing” to it.
What guilt riddled writing confessions hold you back?
Go fill all the blank pages with story …
the Jotter's Joint 