Pumpkins SoC: DAY NINE, Day ONE of the RtaM
RtaM means Race to a million. Yeah, my goal is to write a million words. and you are all coming along with me on this crazy stupid ride!
Today I rant about myself and how I can never motivate myself to become the best. I write about a really cold front porch and the rain.
Hope you enjoy this (if anyone even reads it)
DAY NINE
I think this is the start of something big. I have decided that I am going to write one million words. I don’t know HOW I’m going to do it, but I am. I will, of course, include the word count from anything I write (The upcoming NaNoWriMo included of course!), and I plan to start writing more short stories/poems/places in here as I go, anything to get to my goal of One Million. It’s an insane goal, and it might take FOREVER to get to, but I want it.
Many of you non-existant readers are probably wondering where this came from. I started this SoC thing maybe a MONTH ago and only have nine entries. How can I possibly hope to ever reach a million?
Well here’s how it happened. I was looking into what it took to become a professional writer. One who’s skills would be readily paid for. One site, on the very first bullet, said “Write one million words”. There was, obviously, much more to that bullet, but the one million words statement was its core. The article compared constant practice in writing to the constant practice of a concert violinist who’s skills were marveled at from miles around.
This is going to sound clichéd, but I want to be the best at something. I want there to be that one thing that I do that makes people stand back and say “Wow”. That is my goal. I recently took a keen interest in writing, and am even planning my own SERIES of books, but I have NO experience in writing. I have been lamenting to other people around me about how the prospect of writing a book is so daunting, so scary, because I have no experience writing books or even that much of anything to be honest.
So now I’ve decided to stop complaining and start doing something about it. So I have never written a book before. So I want to make this series the best series since Eragon or Harry Potter. Great. BUT I HAVE DONE NOTHING TO PREPARE MYSELF FOR THIS. For some reason I have this stupid idea that writing a book will just come naturally to me. Sure, I can think of ideas. I can make a plot that makes anyone I tell it to impressed and want to read the books. But can I actually write the things? When it comes down to it, can I really put the pen to the paper, cut a little slit in my heart, and let my blood flow onto the paper?
This SoC has now become my life goal. I WILL become the best writer I know. I WILL become a published author of MANY books. I WILL make this whole writing thing a routine to the point where not writing at least once a day will feel like not eating breakfast or not changing my clothes in the morning.
I WILL reach one million words. JUST YOU TRY AND STOP ME.
Currently I work five days a week, very late into the day (I often get home at 7pm), so for now I will be mostly sanctioned to writing sometime between 7pm-11pm on weekdays. On weekends I have much more freedom (most of the time, I do work some Saturdays), so I should be able to output twice as much on a weekend day than a regular weekday! So be it.
From now on, I will write no less than One thousand words a day. That really isn’t that much, but it’s only my minimum for now. As I continue with this, I may force a higher minimum on myself. Currently, if I were to write an average of one thousand words a day it would take me one thousand days to reach a million. That’s 2.74 years (2 ¾ years). I can live with that. Over these next three years (I’m going to say three for simplicities sake) I will become the best writer I know. I will look back on these ramblings and smile at the improper syntax, poor use of commas, and poor paragraph structure. I will also look back on this day in particular (October 28, 2012), and smile, remembering it as the first day of my climb to becoming someone to be admired.
I’ve never really been truly admired for something. I’ve always wanted to be, to the point where I would actually make up stories in my head where I had super-powers or maybe a very special ability. I have imagined myself as a spy, a super-hero, and so many more amazing things, wondering if I would ever be someone SPECIAL. But here’s the kicker. As I grew up, I never did anything about it. Even up til now, I;ve never been TRULY motivated. For instance, today while I was reading this article that inspired me, I almost GAVE UP. I almost decided that writing was no longer for me. “Too much effort!” my brain screamed at me.
NO MORE.
I have HAD IT with giving up. I have HAD IT with never TRULY applying myself.
I WILL BECOME THE BEST, AND THERES NOTING I CAN DO TO STOP IT.
Thomas Richard Kuipers is on his way to the top world.
And there’s not a single fucking thing you can do about it.
Now, I just had the urge to stop typing, to put my little “See you later!” with – Thomas at the bottom. You know what? No. I’m not done here. I keep talking about how I want to try ACTUALLY writing something, so here I go. I’m going to ACTUALLY write something that’s creative, not just me spewing ideas at a computer. I am going to legitimately write this shit down.
I think the best way to start describing places is to actually go somewhere, so I’m going to go out on the porch outside and write what I See, hear, feel, smell, taste. I’m going to tell you all what the ATMOSPHERE is like. Interactions I have with people.
I am going to take you to my front porch. Let’s go, shall we?
The first thing you sense is the soft falling of rain. The street is more or less quiet aside from the soft, almost rhythmic pattering of the rain and the ruffling and sighing of the nearby tree swaying in the wind. A dog barks in the distance, a single shout. Listening closer, you hear a constant gurgling of the rain-pipe spewing water at a lazy pace. The cold around you starts to set in, the warmth you are so accustomed to from the inside almost completely seeping from your body, making you shiver slightly and at uncontrollable intervals. Your bottom and your feet are especially cold, the feeling of them starting to numb away considerably. You take a deep breath in through your nose, the soft scent of slightly decaying leaves and rain mingle in your nostrils, their potency dampened by the cold and the wet. You open your eyes. Before you, you see a moderately, single standing maple, a solitary street lantern lighting the far left side of the leaves, betraying a golden sparkle among the drops of water clinging to the foliage. Breathing through your mouth, you taste little behind the cold and your recent meal of sausage and vegetables. The houses around you are mostly dark, a single, nearly missed, light softly illuminates the curtains of a house to your forward left. Another two homes add their light to the light of the lantern, barely illuminating the court in front of you. Behind you, a warm glow from the inside of the house invites you in. Your father periodically glances at you through the front window, wondering just why you have chosen to sit on the cold front porch in the rain. Your fingers have lost most of their feeling, your nose is starting to run, and the shivers are coming more frequently.
Perhaps it’s time to go inside.
As it was rather cold outside, my concentration may have drifted a bit from the writing. Perhaps if I were to write in/about a….warmer…environ I would write something a bit more convincing.
Anyways, this has been a very interesting first session. I look forward to the future of this document and cannot wait to see the mythical number at the bottom of my page.
1,000,000.
- Thomas