My plan for today was to write for two hours, solid. I only managed 15 minutes before I caved. Last week, I was asked if I am good at disciplining myself, I answered: I hope I am.
And in truth, to some degree I am, but to another I am not.
The reason I failed so miserably probably has to do with a book I started reading yesterday and finished today. For the past two months, a hunger to read has overthrown me. I like this hunger and want it to stay. Therefore, I find myself complying to its needs. The book I read and finished is Divergent by Veronica Roth. A book similar to the concept of the Hunger Games and one soon to found on the big screen.
(My latest desire is to read all the books which will soon be made into movies.)
The story is good, the character development is exciting. This girl, the author, is a graduate of Creative Writing and it makes my belly sick. Mostly, because I wonder if I could write a book like hers. Though, to take on a novel seems too challenging to attempt. For a while now, novels scare me. Perhaps, it’s the commitment I would have to give. Not to mention, I don’t know if my writing is always stable and clear. Most of the time, I am confused by my own words and wonder if they make sense.
The truth is I began writing today with the hope that I would write for two hours. Obviously, this didn’t happen. It’s okay it didn’t because at least, I am still educating myself by reading. Correct? Or so I will continue to tell myself as I begin the next book.
Since those hours past, I have realized something. I’ve decided to go into the abstract and try to create. I didn’t give myself ground rules… Most importantly, I didn’t give myself an audience.
How am I suppose to write when I don’t know who I am writing for?