5758. That's how many words I officially wrote for my book this week. These words may never make it into the actual book but they’re a start. Chat GPT suggests that the average self-help book is anywhere between 40,000-60,000 words long so in some ways I can announce that I’m 10% of the way there!! How exciting!
I’ve been enjoying the act of writing way more than I thought I would. I love my Friday morning sessions but I was concerned that doing one of those a night would be stressful, especially if I wasn't quite sure where I was going to begin. Luckily I’m very familiar with my subject matter so the words have been forthcoming as I start to stitch the story together.
My family has been supportive as they can be. While I’m writing, they’re cleaning up from dinner, having showers, brushing teeth and winding down for the evening. Unfortunately ‘winding down’ with Matt and the kids normally involves a hectic game of tag that’s played throughout the house. My noise cancelling headphones are good but not that good. I suggested they play chess last night which worked way better.
Writing is easy if I have an idea about what I’m going to say. I don’t even need to know what words I’m going to use to explain this idea, they’ll come when they’re ready. I just need enough to get the ball rolling. My blogs are simple stories with a beginning, middle and an end. I figured I’d employ the same framework for my book, all I needed to do was decide on my beginning.
I landed on moving to Australia. It was the start of my adulthood. I love a good back story and feel like those earlier years would be of interest to my younger self. I want the reader to see the transformation from self-doubt to overly confident and those early years in Melbourne illustrate self doubt better than any fiction book ever could. It’s been pretty confronting in parts reading back through my diaries of the time. I was so young when I moved here and so irresponsible!
I’m constantly reminding myself not to be too judgemental. It’s hard when I read about weekend after weekend spent sleeping till lunch or later with a hangover. I want to burst into that sweaty, sour smelling room and shake myself awake! Get up you fool!!! You’re wasting this amazing day! For years it seems like we just partied. $1 Pots Monday, quiet night Tuesday, Pub Wednesday, pub/gig/party Thursday/Friday/Saturday, Sunday session, repeat. There was just always something on. When I compare it to myself now, who gets a bit panicky if I’m up after 9.30, it makes me shiver! I was more than happy to go out to midnight on school night and multiple nights a week! It's nuts.
Rereading the diary entries instantly transports me there. It's funny how I may never have thought about these events since they happened but the memories are still there waiting to be conjured. I’ve just hit 2009 which was a massive year for me. I broke up with my NZ boyfriend of 9 years and had my single year before getting together with Matt. I love reading about Matt's courting because I was oblivious to the fact that he had the hots for me for months. We’d been friends for years so we hung out quite a bit anyway. Reading back through it is now it’s obvious that he had a thing for me. Why else would he be giving me a lift to work when I worked on the opposite side of town?
Starting at the beginning feels right for right now. I’m being led by the words so often a thought or idea ends up somewhere completely unexpected. This is the luxury of writing a book, a whole book that needs at least 60,000 words. I have room to play. I haven't even gotten close to my blog writing years and then I have even more content to draw from. It does mean that I’m spending a lot of time reading. Lucky my mentor Steven King suggests you have to read as much as you write if you want to be a good writer. I know he meant other peoples well written books and not the scratchy rambling of a drunk 24 year old but it's necessary.
The likelihood of me ever writing about this time of my life again is zero. For the most part reading through all my diaries like this is boring. Every now and then I find a line that instantly takes me back to an event or moment that changed me somehow. They’re scattered throughout the years waiting for their time to shine again. Writing about them in my book is leaving nothing to waste. I’ve often thought of writing as a way of reusing and repurposing lessons I’ve learnt for others and there are some pearls in my early years.
