Some days ago, I reached the 80,000 words goal. I had to wait some days until I finished writing/posting this very article, because my life has been really busy lately, as I mentioned on my last article. Anyhow: Yes, I did it, I finally wrote the “first” 80,000 words of my novel.
Spanish Version: 80.000
And it was kind of awkward. But also a relief. Let me explain it to you.
At the moment, when I was writing, I wasn’t focusing on the word count, just on writing (as I should always do, but you know…). That time was great, I couldn’t write for the last days so it was an special moment. When I remembered to check the word count it was almost 80,000. When I hit that number, I told my boyfriend and sent a message to some friends that are always cheering me up. And I continued writing, like if nothing had happened. Later, in bed, I checked the writing process of that day, as I usually do, and I realised I, in fact, reached the 80,000 words! But, apart from the excitement of the first moment, I felt something else:
Yes, I had already written that much, but I had still some couples of thousands of words (if not tens of thousands) left to write. Furthemore, those last thousands have turned into the most horrifying ones of the whole novel: the end. I tend to be a perfectionist person, so the idea of editing, reviewing, revisiting and working all over again the same piece that, on my own mind, should be perfect from the first second it was written down… it’s just horrifying.
And the feeling of unaccomplishment, the need of refining and perfecting that already done work was just too much. However, it was not the end for me, nor for my nerves.
Writing a novel has shown itself as a long process, full of teeny tiny steps, moving back and forth, checking every single element that should be put (or not) into my pages. I have learnt a lot of things from both the writing process and myself. And I have managed to obtain lots and lots of patience to spend on my persona. I have learnt that things can be done, for sure, but I have to work my best and every freaking day in order to achieve it. Because nobody is going to achieve it for me, but for themselves.
So, what did I do on that night, resting on my bed?
I looked for the positive elements of reaching that huge goal: I did it. No other but myself. It was my fight and I overcame it, so I had to be proud of myself. I thought about what I have done since I said I was going to write that novel, and the changes, the ideas, the tears and the smiles I have suffered and enjoyed since then, and I found myself happy because I have already accomplished so much, and because I am going to, for sure, keep accomplishing much more.
It is not about what is next to come, but the tools we have to fight it. Keep filling your soul with great tools, feel proud of yourself and never stop your path.
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