Just Write Something

I sit on the couch, laptop in lap, staring at the screen. I have no particular topic to write about in mind, yet I feel compelled to write a blog post. Something about disciplining myself to write more regularly, perhaps?

A friend remarked that one of my entries seemed scattered and stream-of-consciousness, full of uncertain thoughts and backtracking. Part of me would like to think that I am, in fact, intentionally doing this and have succeeded in portraying my mind in print. Most of me knows that is not the case.

I made some significant progress last night in what I am starting to think of as my “bad” story. I am writing it to finish it—to actually have something novel-length—even though it is my weakest idea. It is a practice project, really. A generic urban fantasy that is entirely too much like Harry Potter. I caved last night and decided to specifically mention J. K. Rowling’s books. Yeah, this is definitely a practice novel.

They say that writers have a certain amount of bad words they have to get out of their system, the same way that artists have a multitude of terrible drawings they must work through before producing quality work. I just expelled 211 of them.