I spent the weekend working on the research and plot for the novel I’m planning to write. All weekend trolling the necessary Wiki section, Google Images for inspiration pictures, and writing up a 5,000 word plot exploration so that I know (approximately) what is going to happen from beginning to end. And then I went to bed, tried to sleep and ended up thinking about this story for two and a half hours before proceeding to dream about it. I have primary character bios and descriptions; location images, layouts and description pages; I’ve researched space stations, genetic engineering, arcology and stuffed my head with enough motivational books about writing to make it explode. Part of me doesn’t know whether I’m trying to write a science fiction novel or a self-help book.
The point is, I’m getting close to being ready to actually… write something. That’s what happens after you have a plot, right? You write it?
This is the part where I say, “It’s not that simple.”
I constantly struggle with the idea that I am a writer. First off, I do not have a regular writing job. Somehow, I have this idea that being a real writer means it’s your job, something you make money with, something people know you for. Secondly, I’m me. How could I ever possibly be something as important as a writer? After all, I sit on my couch in my underwear in front of a computer most days. No, I’m definitely not a writer. I’m just a nobody with delusions of grandeur.
Except for the ideas I have in my head that demand to be written down and the work I put in to making sure they do get written, just like they want.
I have more work to do to understand the story I need to write. I’ll write it when it’s ready to be written. And until it’s done, I’ll simply have to remind myself every day that it doesn’t matter if I feel like I’m a writer. I’m a writer anyway.
I guess this is just reminder #1.