Talking to a friend the other day, I said something about it being a million degrees.
Then I said to myself ‘you never say anything to anyone without using at least one hyperbolic expression.’ Which, uh, there you go. Apparently I exaggerate even when I talk to myself.
Then I thought about it some.
And it is hard for me to hit the right levels right now.
I understate or overstate when I am in an emotional state. Which I am at this point. So if my flare for the dramatic comes at an inconvenient time for some people, well, it is unfortunate that they can’t reach past the personal inconvenience and try some reassurance and empathy. And while I am on a roll about it, fuck them. Was that overly dramatic? Too bad.
I finished writing something last night and decided to look at my word count. I was a few words away from 200,000. I considered writing a little more, but I was done.
Sometimes I can walk away. Sometimes I can just let things be finished when they are done. A lot of times it is too hard to let things be finished.
This post will push me over the 200K mark easily, and that is a pretty big number of words.
Most novels are at or under 100,000 words.
The Harry Potter books are in the 230,000 zone.
“Crime and Punishment” is a bit over 200,000.
“War and Peace?” Over 500,000.
Naturally, I am not comparing myself to any of those. I have neither the talent nor the disposition to write a novel. I have no illusions that I will leave my day job and write…anything publishable.
I still feel like the number matters. Why? I am not sure. I thought when I got to a year of consecutive days I would back off. Do other things. And I do. I see friends, I do stuff almost every weekend, but I get twitchy when I don’t write.
Does that mean I am a writer? Eh. I don’t know. It seems pretentious. I scribble thoughts down, and throw them out like confetti. It isn’t profound. It helps me keep my thoughts in order. Or disorder. It helps me work my way past why/how/what in my turbulent thoughts. It helps me work through problems. Figure out my feelings.
It helps me.
A few people say it helps them, too. That is just a bonus. For one thing, I never thought anyone else would ever read it. People do. Not a lot of people, but a steady number.
I really have no pretense that this is for anyone but myself.
Unabashedly all about me, I am giving myself a bit of a shout out for writing 200,000 words in around 15 months. They may not be the best words ever written, but they are all mine.
Most people haven’t got that many words bottled up inside of them.
I plan to keep letting them out. At some point, I suppose they will slow down and stop. I will enjoy it while they are still here. Thanks for reading them.
Cheers to all 200,000 of them!