30-Day Challenge

I'm nervous. Today is the first day of my self-imposed 30-day challenge. I'm going to write 1,000 words per day, five days a week, for a month.

I've done it before. I've done more, actually, during the National Novel Writing Month two Novembers ago. Then, I wrote 1,111 words seven days a week for six weeks. So it's not unreasonable.

Thing is—I'm nervous. Why? There's a lot behind this. I wrote before about taking my shot. I'm doing it. I've decided to hell with those copywriting jobs—I'm going to focus all my energy on my writing and take a real shot at it, and if I have to wait tables or bartend or work a ski lift, that's what I'm going to do.

What's scary is I'm putting my writing on the line. I've been sitting in a paddle boat with my feed in the water, butted up against the shore. Finally I'm picking my feet up, rolling back—I'm in the boat. And off it goes.

That's what it is—there's no one forcing me to do this. There's no assignment. It's just me making a deal with myself and a deal with the page, saying, Here's where my writing begins in earnest. Here's where the urgency begins. Because the sooner I can get good enough and put out enough work to make a living, the sooner I'm not a waiter.

Damn. How's that for motivation?

I don't know what I'll write about. I liked "Vials of Juliet"—that was great fun to write, it's nice and tight, and I think I'd do well to have more short shorts like that. Build myself up to bigger things.

It's just scary. Only me and the page now. Nothing outside of that. It's a new intimacy. A new kind of closeness. And damn it's quiet here.