Last week I decided that I needed to write more. I missed posting about my struggles and progress on Facebook, and getting feedback on my challenges. I set a goal to post something no matter what, even if I didn’t have anything interesting to say, so that sharing scarier things would get easier in the future.
Well… writing works in mysterious ways. I had my first DnD group meet last Thursday, part of which was writing a backstory for my gnome character. After 3 hours of writing I didn’t have a backstory, I had the first chapter of a Terry Pratchett story. I didn’t know what to do with it – no part of my plans involves writing punny fantasy. But it was fun. And it flowed. And it was writing. I could feel the character and their universe inside of me. All I had to do was write it down. And then share it with the wider world. Because that too is a part of writing.
I spent some of my Friday and Saturday rewriting the summary style backstory into proper fiction. I even re-read some Pratchett to see how he did dialogue, world building and narration. And actually had a moment of real appreciation for Pratchett’s mastery on balancing action and exposition. And I wrote, and I wrote, and I wrote. I stopped being afraid, or trying to figure out why I was writing about gnome guild politics, and I just wrote until well past midnight.
And I now have something that can be shared. And its terrifying. All my writing has always been about my own thoughts and experiences. Maybe they weren’t deep or practical, but at least it was real. Sharing something totally made up, and being judged on my low brow fantasy, on humor and magic – that feels like a whole new challenge. But that is what writing is about. Giving space to what needs to be written. Then sharing. And getting less afraid. And then writing more.
