In Which Cascabel Tries Something New

One pomodoro, two pomodoro. My experiment begins today. The question is as follows. Does writing for an hour a day, every day, really improve your writing? I’m very interested in the answer.

I write because it forces creativity. Creativity is an antidote to depression. Depression is my curse. It is always there just below the surface. If I give in to it, it can dominate my life. Creative pursuits keep the abyss at bay. I know it is not a cure all but it is an opposing force. Creativity functions like a stone jetty keeping an unstoppable ocean from eroding a coastline.

Writing is not the only thing that works but it is the simplest. It does not require expensive equipment, it can be done even while you are busy with other things like doing the dishes or walking the dogs. In fact, most of my writing happens when I am away from the keyboard. I may hear a sentence or a phrase and immediately start building a story around it. I write all day long, every day. Putting words on paper, or a screen, is a relatively new thing for me and now that I’m actually doing it I can see that I’m not very good at it. My stories always sound better in my head. I would like to write well. That’s the whole point of this experiment.

I am making the commitment today. I will write for one hour, or two pomodoros, every day for one month. I’m making it public because everybody needs to be accountable to something. I don’t have a boss looking over my writing, I don’t punch a time clock, I don’t have set writing hours. I think a blog is a decent way of proving my commitment even if nobody else reads it. I only need to be held accountable to myself.

I used to write a lot in school, not because I particularly liked writing, but because my teachers demanded it. Once my schooling ended, I stopped writing until children came along and I wrote them little stories, fairy tales really, about themselves. I even wrote a poem about and for my third child, my only blonde one, and I can’t stand poems. I could explain why, but the reason would take another hour by itself and this one is dedicated to the reason I write.

Writing for me was never a passion. I never considered myself a writer. I still don’t. I don’t particularly enjoy it, I don’t feel a need to share my stories, I don’t think I have any real, natural talent for it. I just do it.

I’m trying to improve for a very specific reason. I had a story in my head and I wrote it down just to get it out of my head but the characters of the story are not giving me any peace. They want more. As I fall asleep, Isla starts talking to me, letting me know how much of her history I got wrong or left out. She gives me no peace until I get out of bed and write and she tells me I failed. I don’t know why this story has taken hold in my brain rather than the countless others that let me slide but it won’t let me go.

Actually, I do know. It’s a tragic story about the fall of a colony. It’s told in the first person from Isla’s point of view and I really got into character when I first wrote it down. I actually cried while I was writing it even knowing that it wasn’t my sadness but hers. Anyone else reading it would say it was a sad story and move on only because I can’t convey Isla’s sense of loss. I just don’t have that skill yet.

I play Rimworld. It’s a colony building game that is designed for failure. The main way to win at the game is to leave the planet and that is very hard to do. I read a comment on Reddit about it that said you don’t ever get good at the game, you just get better at accepting your losses. The game play can become mechanical after a while so I started taking notes as I played to make the story the most important thing. I did it for many colonies but Isla and the very short history of her colony is the one that affected me most. It must be written.

As I said earlier, I have never had the burning desire to write. Until now. I get up in the morning thinking about how to express the joys and sorrows of the pawns in the colony. As I try to write it down, I realize that I didn’t know the characters as well as I would have liked. Now, they, too, are demanding my attention. Sher thinks I should spend more time on the circumstances that led him to join the colony. Blue tells me I haven’t explained why she was so important to Isla. On and on it goes. Each one speaking up in turn. Come on, guys, it was just a game. Let me get a good night’s sleep.

I’m afraid to write that history. I am incapable of doing it justice at the moment. I want to do better even if the story is just for myself so I’m forcing myself to write this nonsense as practice. If you do something every day you are either going to learn to do it well or realize the futility of your actions. If I don’t see improvement at the end of a month then I suppose I will never have any skill as a writer. I can accept either outcome but I must try.

So, my rules. I am going to write for two pomodoros every day. I will not edit but I will read it over to catch any misspellings. I don’t want to agonize over what I’ve written, I want to see the words and phrases as I’ve written them to best compare one day to the next. I’m learning to forgive myself for clumsy sentences and rambling paragraphs. This is me. This is how I write. I’m not looking for praise or recognition but I will accept any constructive criticism that comes my way. Emphasis on constructive. I will completely ignore anyone who tells me I’m a terrible writer and leaves it at that. This writing is shit. I know that, no one else needs to point that out.

My writing is for me alone. No doubt, someone will be offended at some point by something I’ve written for whatever reason. It’s pointless to tell me. I’m saying what I need to say and any hate I get for it will just be pixels on a computer screen and I refuse to be afraid of pixels.