Girlfriend and I went out to eat the other day. We get our food and sit down at a booth. While we eat, she writes in a little notebook of hers with a ballpoint pen. While she writes she asks, "you're a writer, right?"
"That's the plan." I responded, chicken strip in mouth.
"Then why do you never
Summer 2017, after my graduation, I wrote 2,000 words a day. My routine was solid and I followed it with a fairly strict consistency matched only by an avid Stephen King or a hyper ambitious Charles Dickens. First, after selecting a playlist of music (typically classical or soft piano or anything without lyrics) I would warm up by pulling a random book off my shelf, flipping to a random page, selecting a random word, then beginning a poem from the start of that word. Once I finished the piece and added it to the rest of my random poems, I would begin my 2,000 words on a novel which I've been working on since junior year high school, but didn't begin writing until finishing a few stage plays and outlining the book's first act after my graduation.
I want to be a writer. I want to have a literary career. I don't like my current job and college is a stress heap that I don't reap much benefit from. But here's the thing: I don't want to w r i t e.
Now my day consists of waking up at 8:30 in the morning, going to classes, coming home for a pre-work nap, waking up and going to work at five in the evening, working until two in the morning, coming home, and maybe going to sleep if my chronic insomnia allows it and my Playstation doesn't tease me as a distraction like untapped, virgin Catholic daughter. Now if I don't even have the time for homework; how can I write anything at all? The only literary motivation I posses at this point is for an overly-detailed mellow-dramatic suicide note.
My girlfriend wants me to write. My girlfriend wants me to be a writer. I wrote five 500 words after out lunch date just to satisfy her. And you know what? You know what I felt? Enjoyment. I enjoyed writing those 500 words. Was it work? Yes. Was it difficult? Absolutely. Did I like it more that slapping together burgers for my heart disease infused customers? I reading War and Peace in authentic nineteenth century Russian would have seen more enjoyment.
I want to write. I need to write. I need you all to help me. My girlfriend would appreciate it if I actually did more than 500 words a day.