It’s been an excellent week. I am now at 10368 words. I have broken the ten thousand mark. It’s a day for celebration. I think I’ll have a glass of wine.

I’ve been writing a long time. My whole life. Never to any real purpose but I wrote. About 12 years ago I decided to get serious about it. Worst mistake ever, writing wise. I rushed out and bought all manner of book on the subject. Nonsense about sides of the brain and exercises designed to inspire. I kept a notebook on my person at all times.

And I stopped writing. In fact, I hated writing. I tried not to but I did. I’d gone from loving a thing to feeling like it strangled me every time we met. I forgot my stupid notebooks, lost my pens and I hated writing. I tried to watch people on buses. I took notes about the silly things they would say. I did character studies, I begged my right brain to work well with my left brain but the two rarely spoke never mind played well together. One made lists and the ran around dancing on speakers at bars. It was ridiculous.

I didn’t realize that the damned books were the problem. Every natural instinct I had as a writer went out with the bath water after I read those books and while I needed something they were not it. I spent years feeling like a jackass because here I was well read on the business of writing and I could not write more than ten words without wanting to poke my eyes out with my the corner of my laptop.

Throw in there the growing and birthing and raising of two babies and what you’ve got is a formula for giving up writing altogether.

Only, I couldn’t. I don’t write because I want to make money writing (but it would be nice! I would not say no!) I write because even if I were a doctor (the other thing I want to be when I grow up) I would write. I put words together in my head even when I do not have paper. It is an obsession for me. And those books made me feel stupid.

This summer I decided that this fall would be my time to get back to it and even though I was excited I was also sick to my stomach. Nothing good had ever come from getting back to it. I once quit my job to write full time and while I did grow and learn I also hated it. Nearly every second.

A few weeks ago Dan and I were talking and he said something about a book Stephen King wrote about writing. He said he’d heard good things.

I haven’t read much King. Once at the cottage I got into Bag of Bones and really liked it but I think that may be the only thing of his I’ve read. I’m not a fan of the genre.

But I got the book. Much as I knew it would be a waste of money. All books on writing are.

Except for one small itty bitty thing. This book is awesome. In fact, this book makes awesome look lame. This book has restored my love of writing. Because Stephen King doesn’t carry around a notebook everywhere he goes and stare at people in line at the bank. I mean of course he stares at people in line at the bank. But because it’s fun and not because that’s what writers have to do.

Stephen King writes the way I am naturally inclined to do. His office is not littered with Post It Notes detailing the plot and subplot and character studies of his entire novel BEFORE the novel is written. Stephen King writes the way a person should write, the way that I am in fact writing now. Only twelves years of wasting my time. No big deal. Carry on.

I’ve never written ten thousand words of one project. Until now. That five digit mark is thrilling. I don’t know how my book is going to turn out. I have no idea if it will be any good. I don’t know how much if of what I am writing will actually stay in the book. And that’s all okay. How can I know when it’s not finished yet. How can I say it’s good when it does not yet exist. The point is, I’m writing it. I am getting story down on paper (computer hard drive) and for the first time ever I am really enjoying writing fiction. Be damned the other books I read. They were all written by people who were not successful novelists. Funny, that.

For anyone thinking about writing I seriously recommend you get this book. It’s not only helpful but also a good read.

In additional writing news, I’ve started a rewrite of a piece of short fiction I wrote years ago. It was the story I submitted for the Mentor Program I was a part of in 2000. I’ve since lost the original copy but remember it well enough for a rewrite. Dan thought of it the other day and suggested I do so. I too had been thinking of it and started work on it Wednesday. I can tell you this: it is called run. I’ll finish it next week, take a week to let it settle and then do a rewrite and start submitting.

Ten thousand words, guys. Pretty big deal for me. What’s funny is a year from now when I am working on my next novel ten thousand words will seem like nothing. Ten years from now it will be a real hoot.

Oh and I was totally kidding about the glass of wine but turns out one of the girls I go walking with has invited us in for drinks after our exercise this evening. A glass of wine shall indeed be enjoyed. And I will silently toast to my success. It’s been a good week.