“Heat, you forgot a space between ‘on’ and ‘writing’.” No, no, I did not. I am using my creative liberty to create new words, or so I hope, I can never keep track of what other people are doing and inventing. Anyway, what is onwriting? What does it mean? Who is it for?
Its main purpose is for writers, of course. But I urge all companions of mine to utilize its definition.
Definition of ONWRITING
- Moving a piece of written work forward by pushing pass the obstacles and self doubt.
- The sometimes painful process of completing a piece of written work.
- Saying, “I don’t give a shit what you think!” and writing, regardless of what others believe about your skill or talent.
- The act of writing for joy.
The demons of Cursed have haunted a lot of my writing. I remember the day the idea popped into my head. I was seventeen or eighteen, sitting by the back patio (if you can even call it that), watching Odysseus sniff around to find the perfect spot to do his business. It wasn’t a glorious moment in the terms of what was happening in the real world. But in my mind, a whole new life was being formed. Following that moment, I spent countless days working on it. And I didn’t get far. Life always seems to distract me with new shiny hobbies.
It wasn’t until I took two semesters of a creative writing class that I forced myself to complete the rough draft of the story. Many nights I spent with a cheap bottle—fine, the jug of Carlos Rossi sat on the kitchen counter—and telling myself, “It doesn’t need to be perfect, this is only the draft”.
In this process I had someone close to me tell me their version of the hard truth, “I get you enjoy it and that’s great, but you’re wasting time, I’ve read some of your stuff, and you’re just not that good. You’ll never write like Stephen King.” Somewhere within those words were the apologies, the “I don’t want to hurt your feelings,” and “I just want to tell you the truth so you don’t waste your time.” I don’t remember if I ever heard, “You can get there,” or “There’s potential, but it’s going to take a lot of work.”
It crushed me. Simple as that. Being told you are wasting your time on frivolous dreams is very hard to take in. More so for someone who has felt a calling for it. It has taken years to get me to this point. Years, to find myself in a place where I can say, “I don’t give a shit what you think.” I might not describe a horror scene like Stephen King or create an entire universe like Brandon Sanderson, but I’ll never find out the possibilities if I never take the time to write.
Every time I went back to read the draft of Cursed, I tossed it to the side after I got to the second chapter. That damn cornfield was the death of the story. Here, let me show you.
The OG first paragraph:
Looking around I was standing in the middle of a corn field. I couldn’t see anything but what was above me. The sun was shining, it’s raze gently touching my skin. “Where am I?” I thought to myself as I began to push my way through the corn. The stalks were making my skin itch as they pressed against it.
Oof… Yes, I’m sitting here shaking my head with embarrassment. Raze instead of rays. That alone kills my writing mood. Every time I got to this point, I would just hear, “You’re just not that good.” And the proof was in the pudding. I would close the document’s window and decide that Haley and Lector weren’t worth my time. It was a stupid story, anyway.
Yet, every time I would try writing something else, Lector and his damn curse would come back, sneaking into the worlds he didn’t belong. And that is how the prelude Cursed: A Demon’s Haunting, became the prelude. I let it settle in over the past four years. Hoping that with time, he would just vanish. It didn’t happen.
I set a mission this year to write more. Write what? I told myself to just write whatever I could, and when no thoughts come, just sit down and write about the characters I already know. You know, think about who Lector is, outline his backstory…
As you can see, there that fucker was again. So it’s time we take care of the mess he has made.
Onwriting the first chapter was easy. The scene was rewritten so many times that its engraved into my mind. I won’t say that when I published it on my blog, I did it with perfection or the dedication it deserved, but I needed a push. I needed to shrug off the “You’re just not good enough” and start the process. After a few revisions, I was happy with it, didn’t look at the grammar and just hit the blue little publish button at the top right of the screen. (I have since made a few adjustments to fix things).
Chapter two came, and so did the ugly writing of the cornfield. I had changed it since the first really rough draft. If you’re curious about how that turned out, click here.
I am onwriting chapter 3. It’s a struggle, but it will get to a point of decency, eventually. However, in the meantime, I was trying to think of how to indulge in writing a blog while in the process of writing a novel. And out came the idea for onwriting. My goal in the volumes to come will be to discuss the process of each chapter. What made me want to quit and what gave me motivation to continue? A public critical review from author to reader. A hidden hope lays inside the thought, a hope of helping others move forward in their projects. I don’t care if it’s the project of writing or the project of getting your ass out of bed in the morning. It’s my belief that by sharing the tough parts of a journey, the frustrations, the anger, the joy, and most of all, the outcomes, we all can learn something new.
So until the next time, my dear companions, happy onwriting.
HeatMarie 
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