Little by Little

I look out of my window. The sun's rays are shining down on my neighbour's wall. A squirrel hops over the fence posts, stopping every few moments to get the lay of the land. Lurking cats, the cackle of magpies. Getting a nut, no doubt, is thirsty work.

And that makes me wonder.

His life is one of survival. Mine is going to work every day, then coming home to write four evenings a week. I suppose, like most humans, a different kind of survival exists for each and every one of us, in a variety of ways.

And that's why I believe you need to follow your dreams, play to the strings of your heart and do what you love.

My ambition, of course, is to be a full-time writer. Yet, if that doesn't happen, I'll always honour the call as the words unravel and take shape in my mind.

Writing is almost symbiotic in nature for me. I give something to it, and it gives something back. It's when I'm truly alive.

The cinematic music plays, my green tea sits beside me, and a yearning to know what happens next keeps me tapping away. Or perhaps I'm scrawling on a notepad during one of my breaks at work. Sometimes I'll sit in a park, just dreaming of worlds and characters and places. Strange and diverse.

My current novel stands at 292,887 words to date.

I know what you're probably thinking.

Is it nearly done?

Well, I've moved into my eighth year with this book, and to answer the question, yes, it is. The first draft, anyway.

I'm getting there. Step by step.

I have a favourite Japanese phrase I like to use. Sukoshi zutsu (少しずつ). Little by little.

Each week, I give myself a writing schedule of four evenings, with a minimum of 400 words per session. That works out at roughly eighty-odd thousand words a year.

I kind of wish I'd had this schedule in the beginning, but that's okay. I'm now making the best progress I've ever made.

This month, I've written 6,251 words, and I still have one last session to count this evening.

In the meantime, I'm writing flash fiction at work to practise my craft. I published my first piece, An Untimely Arrival, here on Substack last week, if you'd like a read.

Then there's a short story, The Girl Who Ran Into the Woods, which I spend some time on once a week.

I like the variety, you see.

Some people might tell me I could have written my first novel quicker, and I know that. But I like my schedule. It works for me.

Maybe one day I'll live the dream of being a full-time writer and have more time to explore all the ideas floating around in my head.

But whatever happens, and however long it takes to finish, I'll get there. Little by little.

And I'm excited because there are so many stories I want to tell.

I smile at the thought of having all my books sitting on a shelf beside me as I write the next one.

Now that's a dream in itself.

A dream that, with a little patience and plenty more evenings at my desk, I hope will become my reality.

Happy writing for November, everyone.