A Writer.
By way of noticing a friend of mine’s signature image, I came to realize that November is National Novel Writing Month. And while I’ve known about it for a few years passing now, today, on a whim, I decided to jump aboard the bandwagon and hold on for dear life.
That’s right. I started writing a novel.
The funny thing about it is that I don’t have any idea what I’m going to write about. I mean, I have a small idea, but it’s strange to think that I’m going to run with one sentence and hope it leads me through 50,000 words. So far, after about an hour of not knowing where I’m going but typing my heart out anyway, I have almost 1,500. It sounds like a lot of words, but it really isn’t much.
I’ve always wanted to write a book… of poetry. So this novel is quite a challenge. I’d say, normally you’d start with a character or plot in mind, not a sentence relating to one life experience and then wondering how you’re going to make that interesting enough to read. But do I always operate in what others would consider a normal fashion? Not really.
Wish me luck.