Write This Down

I've committed myself to quite a month, and yesterday amounts to the least of it. Yesterday I had my Toastmasters meeting in the afternoon and my improv class in the evening- my main improv class, I should say. There is also the one I have on Saturdays presently, and there is all the writing I do. I write this, I write tweets, and I write sketch comedy. I hope to find a profitable outlet for all that, needless to say.

There is one more writing endeavor that I must find a practical purpose for now. In September, I committed to writing thirty sketches in thirty days, and I did it. It was hard, and not everything I wrote was great. Some was lousy, but much of it was at least worthy of further effort- not that I have made further effort, because I have hardly written a thing alone those lines in the last month. I have one more thing to keep me from that now.

Just as there was the month for writing sketches, there is a month for writing a novel. With a day before that was to begin, I recklessly decided that I would do it. It's easy to promise something, and something else to deliver it. The only part that makes it easy is if you really feel the obligation in your bones, because then you will do it at all costs, if at all possible. It remains to be seen how possible it is for me.

I am long out of practice writing fiction. I never have written anything as ambitious as a fifty thousand word novel, which is the scope of the challenge. As I write this, my mind is on trying to build a framework that will allow such a work to develop. I very much hope I can do it, and if I can't, then I hope that I go down swinging. The true failure would be if, having made a promise to myself, I failed to really try.