I write, have written, and am writing. I blog, have blogged and am blogging. For the month of March, mostly. Even though I am technically two days shy of doing all thirty-one days of this challenge (late bloomer; didn’t know about it till day three), I’m still psyched that I actually came up with a few good writing samples.
Do you hear that? From the mountaintops, an echo of joy resounds through the valley, across the land. Writing every day. Every. Day. In, like, a row or something. *pops gum*
The self-depreciation abounded. The triumph at pulling something out of thin air more magical than any silly rabbit from a little old top hat. The doubt. Would anyone actually read this stuff? Would anyone actually like this stuff? (They like me! They really really like me!) The emotional freefalls. Rollercoasters would have been more welcome. The procrastination. The thrill of the deadline. The satisfaction at clicking “publish.” The waiting for that first comment…
Ah, good times.
I’m not sad to see this first challenge over. Instead, I’m hoping I have the gumption to do this next year. Also, I leave this experience with expectations to keep my writing alive, that my writing shall not extinguish due to the lack of a challenge put before me. That I might actually put pen to paper or finger to keyboard and wield words once more simply because I can. Because I should. Because it fulfills me quite uniquely unlike anything else ever could.
Congrats to all who took part from the one poster to the thirty-one dayer. For to write even once is better than to not have written at all.