My life as I know it boils down to one activity, or thinking about one activity

I wrote this blog as a document on my lunch break because I don’t make time for blogging when I’m going full tilt with the writing:

It’s funny what this blog used to be, compared to its current use. I’m not one for ultimatums or resolutions, but I kind of realized, as much as I want to talk about the stuff I used to blog about, I only have so many words in me any given day. Am I really going to waste them talking about the ups and downs of my marriage, or even worse, about my pointlessly terrible childhood? Why? It’s distracting and I have other work that’s far greater (in many ways) and far more enjoyable (again in many ways).

So, where am I at with CF? I’m almost done transcribing the second draft, which I’m printing for my husband. When he’s done with his copy, I’ll edit it and turn the 2nd draft into a 3rd as I input those edits. Then, after 3 is saved, I MIGHT transcribe again. I basically want to transcribe twice, but I don’t want to do them too close together. I want to give my best friend her copy to read the next time I see her because I do not want to mail this shit. CERTAINLY am not into the idea of emailing it.

So, I near the end of second draft. When I hit like…idk five or six, I’ll probably be ready to pay the $3000 for a private editor. I actually don’t care about how much money I have to spend to publish. Truly I don’t. I mean, I’m in so much other debt (all from school, I’m not a secret shopping addict or anything) that like, who the fuck cares if there’s more? At least this way it would be over something that I care about, and would love to go into debt for.

Because, as much as we all want to fantasize about the day you can build a shipping container house complete with author’s turret (or whatever your personal writing goal is) that’s really not the point is it? We all want to be rich and famous. Whether we’re taught that as children, or if that’s the true, base desire of any red-blooded ‘murican is beyond me, but I feel like it’s presented as the ultimate expression of life as we know it. Well, not me. I just really want to be rich. The idea of being famous feels like it would be people paying attention to you all the time, in a way you don’t enjoy or want….yeah….that’s not my bag.

So, what are your writing fantasies? For the hundreds of hours we spend staring into computer screens, for the times we forced ourselves to write when we were tired, for the fragments of your soul you have to dust your work with, why are you doing it?

I have two phrases I like to look at. “Write it first.” and “Do it for you.”

Stay motivated, and remember why you’re motivated.

That’s all the advice I got. I’ll be back when I have a sweet picture of a new manuscript. Also I’ll be back in a week because I’m ridiculously proud of my Halloween costume for work. I’m going as Ms. Scarlet from Clue. It’s pretty hard to be the slutty character and stay HR appropriate. Let me tell you.

Peace

~Cassie

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