In order to be a writer, you must write. And that is exactly what I have not been doing.

Life gets busy, other responsibilities come up, plain ‘ol laziness — that all makes me a shit writer. Or shit nonwriter.

All the time spent just mindlessly doing other things or not spending even a fraction of that time doing some writing has me wondering what I could have done by now. The million stories spinning in my head – maybe a dent in drafting those out could be done. even if they stay drafts, at least they could be out, making room for other stories.

So, here I am again, trying to commit myself to being a less shitier writer. This past year I only asked myself to try to write more. No page or word goals. I start strong on those but very quickly lose the motivation and stop. So, just write something. Anything, it didn’t matter.

Some days were better than others, of course. Some weeks were nothing, but it was something. Better in years past.

Time is a bitch like that. All of a sudden years have gone by and I haven’t written a word. Life, responsibilities, laziness. What a shit writer I am.

I started carrying a notebook with me. A small one that I use to work on a draft. I find pockets of time and write a few words, sentences, paragraphs, and even whole pages when the pocket is large and uninterruptable. I’ve found doing this and writing long-form is better for me. Though my handwriting is crap and it takes longer, I feel less distracted than when I am on my computer. There’s just so much interesting stuff right at my fingertips. I can’t help myself. My willpower is very low level. Plus seeing how many pages written in a notebook is so satisfying. I physically see the length, each word and page that came from me. It’s different than seeing a page number on a computer.

Now that my year of passive shitiness is up, I need to get a bit harder on myself. Level up that willpower and determination. First and foremost, I need to finish a novel draft.

So many times I’ve started, get some progress going even, then — just nothing. I stop. Get distracted by a different, shinier idea. Work on that. Get a new idea. Go to that.

Repeat.

Repeat.

Repeat.

I can’t do that anymore. I have more than enough unfinished projects to last me for quite some time. And it feels amazing to actually finish something. So why is it so hard to keep going?

Some type of human nature psychological fear thing? I don’t know. I can’t get distracted with finding that answer right now.

My goal for this is to finish a goddamn draft. The same one I’ve been expanding since my college days. And keeps growing as I continue writing it. However, since I cannot be trusted and lack the right level of willpower, I asked for help. A close friend is going to reward my progress. Cuz treats are nice.

We have discussed my – hopefully – reasonable goals and she will give me my rewards. Or dish out punishment if not met.

Let’s say there is a nice chunk of money on the line if I fail. And I don’t want to lose my money (or fail). It’s a full tattoo session – I want to finish my sleeve!

Part two of our agreement is keeping this website updated. Even if no one sees it and it becomes a personal online writer journal, that’s fine – I want my words out there. Waiting to be discovered or just floating in the void.

Here’s to exploring the Abyss and keeping my money.