It is Friday evening and despite the misleading exclamation point after the preceding two words, mama is tiiiiiiiiired. I am basically writing this mostly horizontal in bed with this Drake song playing in the background. I am exhausted but also simultaneously creatively and intellectually energized after our short Skype call Ann! I am so, so proud of your Google Chrome extension (see previous posts)! I have it on my Chrome now and it makes me happy every time I open a new tab, it’s a little sparkling jolt to my otherwise rote brain. I will be re-reading your thoughtful and educational blog posts – I really appreciated how you linked to all the relevant parts of your process and I am curious to explore things more! SO PROUD! ❤
In terms of my updates, I have now hit 3000 words in my short story writing. This is the first time I have written for this long after the initial euphoria of, “Oh, look at me, I am writing! Creatively! Moi! I love this! I’m so writerly! I have designer glasses! Look at how gleefully and thoughtfully I can put words down on the page. I am an artiste!” has worn off. Have I mentioned how LONG 7000 WORDS ARE FOR A SHORT STORY? I guess not but hot damn, it’s hard to fill out those paragraphs. I know what I want for the ending, I know the scenes I want to describe and the feelings. I basically want to hang out with my main characters and get to know them better. But the actual part of hammering out the words? Hard as eff. The first 1000 words were a breeze. Now I’m in the thick of it and really struggling. But I know, I KNOW, that my previous processes were literally not working. The evidence? NOT WRITING. More evidence you say? This email I wrote myself 5 years ago using FutureMe.org (the blacked out part is concerning an ex-partner).
I draw your attention to “have you started writing your book of short stories yet?”
Apparently 26 year-old-Zany was really consistent with 31-year-old Zany! I am SO thankful that we (you and me Ann!) have gotten our shit together and I am at least in the MIDST of pumping out my first-ever short story (as of a few days ago) so I can answer 2012 Zany with: “I’m working on it!” as opposed to the usual, “No… but I will! When x happens and this has changed and I earn this much and [insert a billion shades of excuses here].”
So back to my short story process. I realize anybody (myself being first in line) at any point in time can interject and say, but Zeynep, MUST you write 7000 words? Perhaps you’re more of a super-short short story writer. A microstory writer. Or in fact, maybe you just shouldn’t write at all given how much you are complaining about it. Maybe you should go back to your life of doing nothing and wishing you could write more and telling everybody about it.
But no, that’s not an option.
So, onwards I go with the glamour and grace of an old disgruntled donkey clopping forwards dragging piles of shit and muck to a barn somewhere.
PS. Here is what 3000 words of pure punching out looks like.
PPS. In all seriousness though, for all my complaining, I am also enjoying this process. I feel like I have achieved both purpose and pleasure in life (even though the actual writing is not always enjoyable).
PPPS. Another mini side-success story inspired by this blog: I am notorious for signing up to really difficult gym classes, paying a shitton of money and not going after the third session. See: Fightbox boot camp March 2016. Wörkout boot camp September 2016. Small group personal training November 2016. I have literally shelled out thousands of Swedish kronor. But, the last three weeks my rule has been: Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays you MOVE. It doesn’t matter what, where, when, with whom and how. You fucking move your ass. And the last few weeks I am proud to report that I’ve been to some super fun classes at my local gym (which is reasonably priced) including one that I have been turning up my nose at – Power Step at SATS. Having previously associated any Step-related class with middle-aged women in Turkish gyms, I used to sneer and say it wasn’t “worth my time” because it wasn’t “hard enough.” I totally forgot how seriously they take exercise here in Sweden and how competitive it can get. Power Step was so insane: step up, step down, twirl, step to the side, squat, lift, squat some more, now we plank, now we do burpees, now we do crazy complex footwork like it was a remastered Footloose taking place in a sweaty gym in south Stockholm. I felt like nothing I had ever done before had ever existed, my whole life had become an entire hour of Power Step. I had become One with the Powers of Step. But it was also RIDICULOUSLY FUN and I am so happy that I gave it a chance. And it’s all thanks to this blog which is helping me lower my expectations so I can actually MEET them as opposed to waving at them from the bottom and moping around that I don’t ever accomplish anything.
Alright. Rant of the week over! Off I go!
OVER AND OUT.