It seems pretty obvious, but something that I’ve learned in the course of being a writer is that I actually have to sit down and, you know, write.
There are so many stories that I’ve made up in my head. I think on average most of my day is spent thinking about stories. Thinking about characters. Imagining a million different scenarios in which my characters hurt, love, anguish, relish… But at the end of the day all the story making in my head doesn’t mean much if it’s not put to paper, or typed into a computer.
Ultimately, that’s my greatest weakness as a writer — I don’t get half as much writing done as I get thinking done. Which of course is important, if you want a story that makes sense and isn’t just a bunch of jumbled ideas jotted down somewhere. But all the same, the first step is getting out of your own head and making the imaginings physical.
I think on some level it’s this fear that the stories in my head are very important and dear to me and putting them out there is opening them (and myself) up to scrutiny. It’s oddly intimate, crafting characters and making stories around them. Even more so when other people get to read them; it’s like having a ton of strangers in your mind.
Step by step. I still have plenty of time to get to where I want to be.