“I’m writing a book” are easy words to say, but harder to actually mean. So I’ve taken to saying “I’m attempting to write a book.” That’s what I’m planning on doing with this gift of getting to live in New York City and not having to work.
We’ve been in NYC for six days, and I’ve spent the time letting the flow of pedestrian sidewalk traffic carry me through our neighborhood, choosing a gym, shopping for a few odds and ends to make our apartment more homey/functional, and reconnecting with a few New York friends. (And also gushing with Mr.YemenEm how positively in awe we are of New York City and the million and one great things about this place).
But it’s time to get down to business. The book I’m writing is fiction, inspired by some of my own experiences, including my time living in Yemen. I enjoy writing almost more than anything, so it’s shameful how little I do it. Mostly what stops me from writing lots is laziness but also a fear of it being terrible. Which is a very real possibility, but one I must accept while pushing forth and writing anyway.
I made a promise to myself a while back that I’d try to do work that is more creatively inspiring to me than what I had been previously doing. And this is when it starts in earnest. At least several hours of writing each day. A Gotham Writer’s Course in the very near future. And potentially applying for a low-residency (meaning you don’t have to be at the university much) MFA program in Creative Writing that I could complete whilst living in Spain. (Lesson 1, Day 1: Don’t ever, ever use pretentious words such as “whilst.”)
I thought I’d write my plans down on the Internet to set them in the stone of ether. This means I will try my hardest to accomplish these goals.
And so it is decreed,