Well, I doubt anybody will end up reading this. Except me. And maybe some nameless void out there who will read this sentence, shrivel into their shell and walk away wondering if I’m psychic.
Nah, not even then probably.
But this seems as good a time as any to write. I have nothing really to say, no great manifest on how to change the world or even change your day to day. I count myself successful when I change my socks and step away from my computer to challenge the fiery ball of death outside trying to burn me to a crisp. Or if I write more than two words.
My challenge to myself – to write for at least thirty minutes a day until I can up that to an hour. It will be difficult. Sacrifices will have to be made. TV shows will have to go unwatched. I might even have to delete my Netflix account (say it ain’t so!). But I want to be a writer.
I’ve wanted to be a writer since I knew what writers were. As a child I thought them to be fantastic voyeurs who wrote out what people actually did, if not on this plane of existence then another. I inserted my tiny self into countless wardrobes only to find disappointment, waited desperately for our unimpressed Australian shepherd to talk to only myself, and even explored my backyard for tiny villages of people looking for a savior. I battled Darth Vader in our rickety jungle gym before jumping into Han Solo’s co-pilot seat. I narrowly escaped the bumbling sheriff of Nottingham and the evil Guy of Gisbon into Errol Flynn’s charming embrace. When I realized that the words came from pure imagination in someone else’s head, the world opened even more.
And yet at the ripe age of 27 I fail to have even accomplished one story.
So, I started an original piece back in November of 2012, for National Novel Writing Month. I managed to squeak past the 50K word count, one day in the 20’s even writing over 8,000 to get back on track. And on December 1st the story fell to the wayside, gathering dust as my characters shrank in my head.
No longer. I must try to find a way to make them come alive again, to make ANY character come alive.
My name is unimportant. You can call me Elle. Elle Knight.
If you’ve read this far, welcome to the beginning. Buckle your seat belt. No promises, but I hope the ride will entertain you.