Words

I'm a writer.

I'm not just a writer because I call myself one. Writing a blog doesn't necessarily make one a writer, either. Yes, by definition a writer is someone who writes -- but for me, the titles goes deeper than that.

When I'm alone in my car, or taking a shower, or walking along the shore, my mind is rarely idle. Instead, I'm busy constructing sentences. Listing adjectives. Creating characters. Writing blog posts. I can spend twenty minutes of my life, or more, steeped in thought, ferreting out the best way to phrase a description of the morning fog clinging to the trees.

And I don't just write in my head. I have notebooks scattered everywhere throughout my life, just waiting for the words to pour onto paper, in hopes that they will find a home in a more permanent situation soon. Scraps of poetry, bits of story line, a jotted note about a dream I had once---all waiting to take shape into a more concrete, linear form.

I have a love affair with language. I am mesmerized by words: the fluidity of them, the meaning of them, the beauty of them. I collect quotes -- whether serious or thoughtful or funny--that speak to me. My house is decorated with words. Wooden signs with written reminders to dream, to fly, to live and love. 

Words give me strength. They can be anchors, or buoys, or vessels. They can be wielded as weapons, or wrought with grief. They can be witty and pointed, or placid and dull. 

Words are loneliness, and love. They are epic, and trivial.  Words are limiting. Words are freeing. They are weird and awkward, or subtle and shifting.

Words are romantic. Give me a bouquet of words--well-spoken, meaningful, lovely words--over a handful of flowers any day. 

I may not have a shelf of books with my name on the jacket cover, or be recognized among my peers as a starving artists paving her way with words. I may not spend twenty-three hours a day hunched over my keyboard, painstakingly pounding out the next great American novel. In truth, I may not even be that great at writing.

But nonetheless, I am a writer. My destiny is with the written word.

I can't help it. Words captivate me. I am their greatest fan.

I Just Want To Write

For as long as I can remember, my dream has been to become a writer. 

Wait, let me rephrase. I AM a writer. But my dream is to be a real-life, actually published, I-have-an-honest-to-goodness-book-with-my-name-on-it kind of writer.

I can vividly remember being a child, sitting in my bedroom floor, surrounded by colored pencils and construction paper and glue sticks and glitter, illustrating my latest storybook. I was about 9 when I had my "a-HA!" moment. While tying my latest creation together with twine, I realized just how happy writing made me. And I decided then and there that I was going to grow up to be a writer.

My dream has taken many shapes over the years. When I was in college, I wanted to be a journalist. I imagined myself interviewing famous celebrities for a big, important newspaper...or covering a local election...or potentially even taking my mad skills overseas in some world-altering Anderson Cooper way. Truthfully, I never wanted to be FAMOUS, I just wanted to write about important things. 

As I've gotten a little older, my dream has morphed into a desire to live somewhere lovely. Some place where I can get up in the morning, cup of coffee in hand, and sit down to write every single day.

The venue, my hairstyle, and the color of my laptop often changes in my little imaginary scenario. The cup of coffee and the writing part, however, have yet to change.

Something about writing--about creativity in general--draws me in like an extreme coupon cutter to a Sunday newspaper. I just HAVE to create. It may not be on a daily basis. But when I'm away from it for any period of time, I start to yearn for it all over again. Writing allows me to be my true self. My most complete self. And whether I'm sharing my thoughts with the world or not, it makes me feel like I'm contributing something, one ellipses at a time.

I'm aware that writing doesn't always provide a steady income. Believe me. While I dream that my life as a professional writer will someday look like this:

...I know that the likelihood of that scenario is fairly slim. Don't get me wrong--that isn't me bashing myself or my skills, or lacking the conviction to go after my dreams. That's just the cold and honest truth. I've read enough books over the years to realize that, while I could most likely write something that is publishable, the chances that I'll ever be another JK Rowling are pretty minuscule.

In truth, I'd be thrilled right down to my toes to have a couple of books published and on the market, even if you could only find them in the discount bin at the bookstore.

When I think about what my professional life will look like in a couple of years, I'm more than happy to picture myself sitting at that desk overlooking the ocean pictured above. But when I turn off my inner cheerleader, and listen to my inner realist, I become more certain, the longer I go without being published, that my professional life will look a little more like this:

Don't get me wrong. I love Target. I really, really do. But I really, really DON'T want to work there. Or any other retail job, for that matter. I worked retail for YEARS before I took my current job (which, it should be noted, really isn't all that different than retail. Except now I get to deal with that lady AND I have to collect her bill when it's late. Awesome.)

As Brian's graduation draws nearer, and the time for change looms, the more I realize that I need to stop dreaming, and start doing. So that's what I'm going to do, starting now. 

Those of you who have been around for awhile may remember that I participated in National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) last year. And I managed to bang out over 50,000 words in less than thirty days. So many of you have asked me what happened to that book, whether I'd put any more time into it after I'd spent so much time focused on it last November.

I told some of you that it's unpublishable. I told others that it was a just silly idea I had, and that I wrote the story just to get it out of my system. I told a few of you that I thought no one would read it because it was too something: cliche, ludicrous, specific to a very small audience.  I told most of you that I had toyed with it for awhile to try to turn it into something but it was just a whole lotta nothin'.

More truth: I lied.

The truth is, after I hit the "send" button and submitted that manuscript to NaNo, I never touched it again. 

I can give you 84 reasons why: the holidays came around, we got too busy, I turned into a lazy bum after nearly 250 hours of writing. But the truth is this: I Got Spooked. For the first time in my life, I was putting some serious effort into achieving my dream. And when I REALLY started thinking about getting published, my heart tried to pound out of my chest, my palms got clammy, and I dismissed the idea just to save myself from polishing off the tequila in the back of my liquor cabinet.

Well, readers, NaNo 2012 is right around the corner. In fact, it starts exactly 25 days from now. And I've decided I'm going to write the second half of the book I started last year. (Don't worry, I checked the website to make sure I wasn't breaking any rules. So long as I don't copy and paste from any of my previous work, it counts as a new submission, even if it's from the same idea.)

In order to jog my memory (since I haven't read what I wrote last year since...well...it was being written) I printed out last year's manuscript a few days ago. And can I just say...I nearly wept when I saw it sitting in front of me.

ONE HUNDRED AND TWENTY PAGES. All mine. Every single word. Mine. 

Awesome.

So, wish me luck, readers. The next few weeks will be dedicated to editing what I already have, and planning out what I'll add to the story next. And maybe...just maybe...this little story will allow me to write another little story someday.

After all, that's what I've been dreaming about since I was nine years old.

And So It Begins...

Zero. My word count is at zero.


After today, that is a number I do not wish to see again.


That's right, folks! It is officially November 1! Which means, NaNoWriMo officially started 10 hours ago! Which means, I'm officially behind in starting my very first novel! (For those who missed this post, NaNoWriMo is an online challenge to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days. No, I'm not crazy.) (Only because my straight jacket hasn't come yet.)

I'm having mixed emotions about this challenge at this particular moment. There's part of me that is calm, reserved, and ready to work. She looks like this:

I'm so clever, perhaps I'll write this novel with a PENCIL.

The over-thinking, over-planning, over-emotional part of me is freaking out because I didn't write much of an outline, I still haven't chosen a name for my main character, and I have no idea where I'm going to start my story. She looks something like this:

What the FRUIT have I gotten myself into??!?!?!?!??!

I'm banking on 3 very specific things to get me through the next 30 days. 1) Endless creativity. Or at least creativity in some form or fashion. 2) Guaranteed breaks for Castle. And 3) My good luck charm, which comes in the form of a hoody from Threadless.com.

Because we all know my affection for exclamation marks a plenty.

Don't worry, readers. I will still be posting my usual amount of blogs for your enjoyment for the next 30 days. Just don't be surprised if, by the end of the month, my blog posts read something like this sounds:






Patty!! Maybe I'll use Patty as my main character's name!!!


Anyway, I'm counting on you to keep me as accountable as possible throughout this challenge, so every day, I'll be posting my word count. Remember, I have to pound out 50,000 words total. So in order to accomplish that goal, I have to write about 1700 words a day. Which works out to be about 6 1/2 pages. That's not so hard, right?


* SOB *

= 0

The Best Ideas Happen In Bed.

I mentioned last week that I was going to spend my November writing a 50,000 word novel for NaNoWriMo.


I ordered my new straight jacket from eBay that same day. It still hasn't been delivered yet.

Huh. Looks like it might be a snug fit...

I had a lot of trepidation going into this process. I mean, I've wanted to be a writer since I was 6 (when all I had to do in order to be published was whip out my jumbo box of crayola fun and get crackin'.) There are so many parts of the process that scare the bejesus out of me--enough to have kept me from pursuing my dream for all these years.


One of my biggest hangups was worrying about coming up with a marketable idea. Sure, it's great fun to spend a year of your life pouring your heart and soul into something. But if that something isn't sellable, then what's the point? (That is, if your ultimate goal is to be published. Otherwise, who cares, right?) 


For years it has felt like that single hurdle was looming over me, blocking my path. And I have really short legs, so jumping over it was never really an option.


But now, with a deadline breathing down my neck, I've been forced to put all that aside. If I'm going to participate in this thing, and I really want to, I have to just suck it up and deal.


Turns out, it's been the best thing for me, as a writer. I came up with an idea that I thought would be fun to write. Something that would keep me engaged for the 30 days I have to bang out 50,000 (somewhat usable) words. And as it turns out, the more I flesh out the characters, and the story line, the more I think it might just be a marketable idea after all.


Hooray for me!


I'm not going to get into total specifics here on AbbyGabs until I have some decent stuff written. (Unless I get to November 2nd and realize that my straight jacket purchase was actually a pretty smart idea.) But here are a few small hints as to how my novel brainstorm is going.

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Yes, that's the Twitter bird. And yes, he will play a pivotal role in my little story. Intrigued yet?


Let me just say that a majority of these inspirations came to me while trying to fall asleep. I had that "Holy Crap Balls, what am I going to write about?" moment just as my head hit the pillow, and I lay there thinking about where I wanted my story to go.


In short, there will be hilarity, some soul-searching, a hunky leading man, a dream come true, and possibly a short visit to a tattoo parlor.


Sounds like chick-lit to me!