Sept the Third
GOOD. MORNING. JOURNAL!!!!
If you cannot tell, I have a ton of energy this morning. A TON of ENERGY! I’m halfway tempted to wash my car, tell you the truth! But I’m not going to do that, Journal! Why would I bother, I can’t drive for at least another five days because my parents are worried I have a serious head injury! All three of them!
Hahahah, just kidding again. I only have two parents, although sometimes I see two Ashleys walking around the house…
Kidding again, sucker. Gotcha!
No, I have a plan for today. I did a whole lot of thinking last night – thinking about my novel, thinking about my experience in the woods, thinking about my life and where I’d like it to go – and came to a conclusion: I’m going to follow the advice of the ‘man whose books I read. My goal is to be just like Stephen King, so I figure I should write like him, y’know? I spend all this time worrying about how planning my book is going nowhere, how I’m having so much trouble getting an outline started, this that and the other thing; I’ve been thinking about everything besides writing the actual book, Journal, and I think I’ve figured it out. You ready for this? Here goes:
In order to write a book, all I have to do is write the book.
BOOM. Fucking. GeNiUs !!!
… … …
But seriously, all jokes aside, I think that’s my plan. I think I’m ju–… no, I don’t think. What I’m going to do is just write the damn thing. Stories aren’t simply made up, not all of them at least; stories exist somewhere as ideas, and they come to our minds and reveal themselves. The story of Albey the Mad Poet pursuing Gobon through the endless wood is definitely one of those stories that exists outside the realm of the human imagination, and in order to translate it from that mystical someplace else, I need to write it. I don’t know exactly what it’s going to be about, I don’t know how it’s going to end, what characters are going to show up, et cetera, but I do know the first line. And maybe, just maybe, that’s all I need to know right now.
Think about it: how are books written? One line at a time, sometimes even one word at a time! And not only do I know the first word, I know the first line of my book. SO, just as soon as I close out this entry, I’m going to write that first line. Then, I’m going to open my mind and the second line is going to come to me, then the third, and then the first paragraph will be done, and then the second, and then, and then, and then…
Journal, I’m going to have this novel done in no time flat. That’s how it’s going to feel, at least, and I just can’t fucking wait. Here’s to me, and here’s to Stephen King for inspiring me to bring this project into reality. I still want to be a poet one day, and poetry isn’t on a different page than prose but in an entirely different book altogether, but at the end of the day, it all boils down to writing. Writing is writing is writing is writing is writing, and I want to be a writer.
Well, I already am a writer, hence this journal, but I want to be a professional writer. I want to be a real writer, one who gets paid for the things he writes, and the only way to do that is to write some things.
Something other than you, Journal. Sorry that I’m not more sorry. Matt’a’fact, sorry that I’m not sorry at all. If this journal ever gets published I’ll be sorry, but it won’t.
So, yeah. SoRrY aNd ShIt!
… … …
One more thing before I go, though. As far as the shit that happened in the woods and at The True Commons goes… well, it was a doozy. A big ol’ doozy. I uh… I honestly do plan on writing pretty much all day today, but if I get a minute I’d like to take a drive down the road and wander out to the campsite, just to be there again, y’know? I had a difficult experience and I’m a little bit afraid to go back there, and I don’t like that. I made that spot all by myself, I put real and actual work into it, and I’m afraid of it now.
And that, Journal, is simply no good.
What if that happens with my novel? What if I spend the rest of September writing for literally twelve hours a day and then when I get to the end, I’m so afraid of what I’ve created that I can’t bear to go back and read through it? What if I throw it out, what if I soak it in gasoline and burn it to ashes, which blow away too? That would be horrible, that would mean all that nonsense I went through the other day would be for nothing. That would mean I flunked out of college not because my path is not down the road I know, but just because I’m a failure.
Well, I’m not a failure. I’m a ‘man, a human, and I have emotions just like the rest of the humans. What separates me, Journal, is not the capacity to deal with those emotions – believe it or not, everybody has that capacity – but the willingness to do so.
So, if I get a minute during the vast majority of the day when my parents aren’t home, I’m going to take a drive down to that little dirt shoulder, I’m going to walk out to The True Commons, and I’m going to stand around until I feel comfortable.
And that will make all the difference.
Say thankya, Journal. ‘Preciate ya. Long days and pleasant nights~
Hello Commons, this has been the next journal entry from Untitled Bigfoot Project, a novel about a writer who writes a novel about bigfoot.
Untitled Bigfoot Project is part of the Third Spiral, an anthology of sorts called The Here and Now which is comprised of stories told from the various planes of Existence.
Untitled Bigfoot Project is available to read for free in its entirety on my website. Click here to check it out.
I’ve written a few other books, too. Click here to see the list.
If you like Untitled Bigfoot Project and would like to help support my work, click here and buy an autographed copy of the book (or anything else!) from my store. Alternatively, you can snag a cheaper (and unsigned) copy from Amazon by clicking here OR you can buy the ebook for even cheaper here.
If you’re there, hypothetical reader, thank you for being there. Be well Commons~