I’ve just finished writing Carrington Rd., right now it’s nearly 2,000 words, one of the longest pieces I’ve ever written. It’s taken me 3 days, and I’m really happy with how it’s turned out. Haven’t proof-read the latest version yet, but man, the threads that weave within it are some of my best work so far.
I’ve started thinking more about the idea of writing a book lately. I’d been thinking about it before though, ever since Granny proposed the idea to me, but that was more about the impact it could have, which I saw as my motivator, mainly a vision I had in my mind of the potential effect my words could have (although that’s a topic for a book chapter later!).
But something just clicked in a big way. I said to my sister, in our voice notes last week, OMG BJ I might actually do it, I might actually write a bloody book! The idea that my words could be made into a book is new and exciting, part of this newly inspired confidence I’ve gained with my writing courtesy of BJ and Granny; but the thought that I’d have the motivation to pull it off, well, that’s something I never thought possible. Even with other minor obsessions coming up, as they often do in my life, I’ve still kept writing, aiming for my 500 words a day, and trying to make it back for the days that I miss.
But the new realisation literally just hit me. I’ve been thinking so much about how this book could change the lives of other people… but maybe it could change mine? Not in a financial or fame way, but to know that I myself have written a book — that something I made is out there, published, being read by other people, that I’ve done something huge with my writing — well goddamn, that’s a thrilling thought.