After November's soul crushing defeats, I got it in my head that I was going to try to quit writing. Quit thinking of myself as a writer. Just for a month. Just to see what it felt like.
I got out my list of "other things" that I've had piling up in a closet: arts and crafts scraps I'd planned to sew together into something usable; crap ton of books that need to be read; my volunteer job of Slush Pile reader for The Battered Suitcase
; also I applied for a job as an Editor at Crescent Moon Press
(Cross your fingers and think good thoughts for me, k?) So I had THINGS TO DO!
I wouldn't even miss writing. Wouldn't miss staring at a blank page and wonder "what next," wouldn't miss reading blogs about publishing, about the craft, about what's new and trendy, wouldn't miss looking for journals to submit to and wouldn't miss those lovely emails saying, "Close, but not quite for us."
A big bit of this decision was made with the knowledge I had just garnered about myself that nothing I planned went as supposed and that by not
writing, by purposely refusing
to consider myself a writer that I'd be back at it within a week.
Well, it took a bit more then a week. And while I'm still not really WRITING, writing, I am thinking of it. Thinking of characters, about themes, about things that NEED to said, you know, in fictional form.
Oddly enough, I've also been thinking about putting myself out there again. It all started when a friend told me about this thing
. Terrifying huh? And also sort of excited. And that was when I knew. I would ALWAYS think like a writer, I will ALWAYS be a writer. Some parts of being a writer means you don't write. You sit, you ruminate, you reflect.
I'll give myself two more weeks of that before I start to put any of those thoughts, ruminations and reflections down in story form. Until then, I think I'll just sit here and think of character and see if those characters have anything to say to me or better yet, to each other.