Tonight was the night of the monthly Twitter chat, #blognow. The three lovely hosts are people I met have "known" online for years, but only really introduced myself to at BlogHer this past August. I have enjoyed talking with them instead of just listening in - it really has been so nice.
I don't ever really feel like a writer though. I like to write, but I'm not a writer. I like to sew, but I'm not a seamstress. I like to sing, but, well, okay. I'll take that one. I am a musician and have worked damn hard at making sure I was successful at that. Still. Creatively, I'm not exactly excelling.
The thing about November - that month where we torture ourselves with the promise to write everyday - it's a time where I force myself to sit down and post everyday. Granted, I've done a couple of gimmie posts already, but I also have done more writing this month than the past five or six months combined. So it's good for me.
I'm good at goals. Writing everyday for a month. Tracking what I eat through Weight Watchers. Getting the Listen to Your Mother show done. Things with tangible goals and deadlines, I can do.
This book that I want to write though? That's just me, thinking about it? Promising myself that I would write at least 500 words every night before I hit the pillow? That's not going so well.
Accountability. I need it, but don't have it where the book is concerned. I guess I'm not committed enough to it. I don't know.
I do know though, that I sat down tonight, thinking I would just post three lines, and I'm still rambling on and on. I have words. I just have to get them out. And edited. Some editing ever at anytime might be good.