It started with a summer desk job. Well, technically. Front desk at a public pool, working admissions and overseeing the other lifeguards. For the most part, when people weren’t yelling at me, it was quite boring. I’d have killed to have been able to read a book, but, for fear of me looking distracted, that was prohibited. As were the uses of my phone or the computer for anything other than work.
So what the heck was I going to do during an eight hour shift that left me sitting there doing nothing, talking to no one, for 80% of it?
A few months prior my friend had gifted me a series of three little paper notebooks with phrases like Follow your dreams and Do what you love on them. They knew I was a writer. Until last summer, though, I had basically condemned any sort of handwriting, swearing that I only ever (creatively) wrote on my laptop. So the notebooks got shoved in the drawer and there they sat until last June when I realized the loophole in my prohibitions.
If I couldn’t read a story well, fine. I’d write one.
The story I worked with was one I’d had in my head for a long time, and one that’d I’d written a short (well, 23 pages) story version of. I had half of a plot laid out in my head, the first thirteen or so chapters outlined. I figured I’d get writing and see what happened.
What happened was almost everyday I did…something. Sometimes it wasn’t much, but it kept me moving in my story. That summer I also lifeguarded, which gave me periodic fifteen minute breaks, and I’d end up pulling the notebook out even during those just for something to do. And then once or twice a week at home I’d type up what I’d written, maybe even write a little more.
By the end of summer I’d gotten farther than I ever had in a story. So I just kept going.
I got a new notebook (this one simple, labelled Full of ideas) and brought it everywhere with me. I’d be writing in all of my classes, between shifts, whenever I could. A few days later I’d type it all up. Not only was it good to be making constant progress, but it also kept me in the mind and world of my story, which made me want to keep coming back and working more.
During that I had been working three jobs, running two orgs, and taking a full class load. The summer prior I’d been working full time. And at the end of December the first completed draft of my novel was 413 pages, or about 126,500 words. (For reference, Hunger Games is just under 100,000 words.)
Now, I’m not claiming that was easy peasy. It still took seven months and, after making a completely self motivated goal to finish by New Year’s, I had a bit of a writing sprint in December. But it was possible, on top of everything, because I just did a little every day. Sometimes, it was a few sentences in my notebook. Sometimes it was five pages typing up what was handwritten and then staying in the groove for another five new pages.
Now I have a new notebook, this one titled Notes. If it wasn’t obvious, it’s for my revision notes as I prep my novel for my lovely beta readers.
And honestly? I wouldn’t have thought this was possible, to have an entire completed real novel but I’m learning it’s okay to do things piece by piece, little by little.
And it’s been working out for me so far.