Your writer is evolving!
Your writer is getting published! (And also possibly transmogrified into a biologically unlikely water dragon.)
Confession: I started this blog so I could get some practice blogging before/if I had to start blogging for real (in the event of publication.)
Which isn’t to say that the blog you’ve been reading is only a figment of the mind, and that you’ve just been dreaming for the past several centuries. You have no friend/family member/acquaintance named, Peri. In fact, you’re about to wake up and find yourself in the long, silver, cigar tube we froze you in. The year is 3095 and your name is Winston Churchill.
I entered into this blogging thing with the idea of using it to beef up my online snarking stats, but it turns out that even being a proto-writer means writing almost all the time. So now here we are: I’m going to have a short story published in the near future (which literally everyone reading the blog at this moment, now, in March 2015, knows already–I couldn’t have spread the news more widely if I’d airlifted town-criers into each of your neighborhoods) and I’ve only put two posts up on this thing.
In my perfect brain-world, I hit the ground running with the shoes of Mercury and blog just like Chuck Wendig, who happens to be my idol of bloghood. He’s hilarious. He’s a feminist. He gives good writing advice. And when he spits, metaphors of hysterical genius splatter all over the computer screen and form a perfect Jackson Pollock smudge.
In real life reality world, I write about thirty sentences of seven different blog topics over my work lunch-break while mashed potatoes dribble down my chin, and then never finish them. Meanwhile, a little imposter-syndromed, hyperactive chinchilla who lives under the couch in the back of my psyche runs around in circles shouting,
ARE YOU NUTS? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING? YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU’RE DOING. IF YOU WRITE THIS EVERYONE IS GOING TO KNOW THAT YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU’RE DOING AND THEY’RE GOING TO SEND YOU UGLY POSTCARDS ABOUT ALL THE WAYS THEY’RE JUDGING YOU.
Of course, the chinchilla is full of shit. I know quite a bit about writing (I should do, considering the amount of hours I spend shut away over a keyboard, sucking the dregs of my social life through a straw threaded under the door.) But there are lots of things I don’t know, too. Buckets full of stuff waiting atop doors I haven’t walked through yet.
Subconsciously, I (and I think a lot people) live with this delusion that there are two states of being a person: person in progress and person completed. Like one day the latter group woke up to the sound of a microwave timer binging in their brains and now they get to skip through the rest of life in a state of perma-bliss, flinging frisbees of self actualization at the world while the rest of us try to catch up.
Obviously that’s not the case. But I often find myself behaving as if it is.
So rather than holding off on this blog post until it’s photoshopped to flawlessness, or perfecting my blogging game in a dark corner somewhere before punching my way in through a wall, I’m going to do here what I do with all the other projects in my life that don’t have anything to do with writing and
buy seven pounds of yarn before I even have knitting needles, attempt to melt silver on the stove without a working knowledge of blacksmithery, learn the rules as I go.
And now, apropos of nothing, and because I spent like forty minutes compiling this next part before I knew what the rest of the blog post was going to be about…
This is what it’s like trying to read and make sense of your first ever acceptance email/letter:
Thank you for…
I would be pleased…
…ext issue of…
…ve questions feel fr…
And then, when you finally manage to jigsaw a coherent meaning out of all of that, it feels like this:
Yeah, it’s awesome.