For Day Eight of Writing 101: the letter.
I have yet to decide if you’re my best habit or the worst.
You have this awesome habit of hanging around me, and I think you’re the reason behind 99% of why I question things. What if is my favourite one, I’m sure you know.
Only you never actually leave me with a good memory. You run in, chuck ideas at my head and run off before I’ve had chance to draw breath. I have to scribble them all down, at which I imagine you being all approving and smart, and hope I can make time. Can you help me there, actually – just kind of make time and space bend to human will?
Oh, and don’t think I’ve forgotten NaNoWriMo 2014. Don’t think I’ve forgotten how you made that poor little novel mutate into something it wasn’t. That novel and I were cruising along quite happily, then you stuck your oar in, and ran off with it to another century – country, too, for that matter. And if that wasn’t bad enough, then you gave me ideas to develop it into a series. I mean, that’s great, and thank you for that, but where’s the rest of the ideas? Are we just going to plod along and start a new novel every year, collecting 50,000 word manuscripts to rest on creaky digital shelves?
What’s the deal, anyway? Are you trying to stealth-make me into a genius? Or a millionairess? What is your game?
I know. I come off as suspicious of you, Creativity. I can best explain this as being a longterm fan of Pretty Little Liars, a series in which you are required to have at least three suspicions per episode.
It’s an acquired habit.
Don’t get me wrong, you’re great. I like you very much, and you’re always here. You’re just not very reliable, but at the same time, the things that result from your presence – Etsy stores, novels, sudden sketching-out of a family tree for a fictional family – they’re kind of addicting. Like a bag of crisps, or starting out fangirl habits in a new fandom.
At any rate, you’ve given me loose plans for what’s bound to be my Month of Unemployment, so I guess you can’t be the worst habit.
You may stick around.