High Standards
Ever since I was a kid, I've wanted to write a book. I remember when I was in primary school, resolving to pen a story 100 pages long, which at the time seemed like a feat that would bring me untold recognition and praise upon its completion. Naturally I didn't even come close to finishing it - my lack of execution obviously set in early in my life.
About 15 months ago I first considered writing short stories, as a way to express myself and the struggles I was dealing with in a less self-absorbed way than chronicling my own experiences factually. Obviously I didn't ever get round to doing that either, because I am a perennially weak-willed, lazy individual.
Recently I read a blog post (that I have not been able to rediscover in order to link or give credit to, sadly) that pointed out that if you wrote 200 words a day for a mere 125 days, you would be left with 25,000 words of writing, and many would consider that to be approximately one book's-worth. Well, I thought to myself, I write approximate 200 words a day, and I have done for the past 125 days or thereabouts. The issues were that firstly those writings were solely non-fictional, and I would have no interest in writing anything other than fiction; secondly that they are separate pieces and these incongruent and incoherent when viewed together; and thirdly that they are, by and large, perfectly fucking awful.
I doubt there is much I will be able to do about the last one, but with some kind of concerted effort, I could surely remedy the former two problems. I clearly have it in me to write consistently enough to produce enough words to fill a book. Furthermore, when I was creating my reading list for this year, I tried to fill it with authors who I thought would inspire me, and whose influence I might be able to draw upon if and when I tried my own hand at writing fiction.
Talking to an old school friend this week, who is infinitely better read than I, I realised another hurdle I would have to jump over. If I tried to write a book, I would want it to be of an insanely high standard. I'd want to write like Proust or Dostoevsky. I'd want my text to be as deep and nuanced as Infinite Jest. I might write 200 words in a day, but I'd spend the next fortnight redrafting them. I would reject a million good ideas before finally settling on one, not because I was satisfied with it, but because I was frustrated at my own lack of progress. My vision of the plot would inevitably change often through the processes of planning, drafting and then editing. I would invariably find myself ensnared betwixt a desire to both emulate my literary heroes and also to produce something unique and original.
Despite all this, perhaps I'll write a book one day. It might be fun, in a masochistic kinda way.