Sometime in October last year, I listened to Colly Strings by Manchester Orchestra in the bus when a muse struck me and a whole story developed itself in my head. The imagery has latched on to me until I finally attempted to write it in December. I wrote around two pages when I finally fumbled with my words, and found cracks in the storyline that I couldn’t jump over. I gave the story a miss, and moved onto another story to write, promising to myself that as long as I continue to listen to Manchester Orchestra, I will finish this story.
This August, I attempted to take a crack on the story again after months of hiatus. My word count climbed from a measly 600 words to 2,000 to 4,000 and to 6,000. Not only has it risen significantly, it has risen with my ultimate satisfaction for a first draft. This story is by far the longest story I’ve ever written, which is a sad case since I’m doing NaNoWriMo this year. I’m happy that I managed to fill the cements in on the cracks I encountered and persisted on finishing it. Most of the time I just gave up, which makes me a shitty writer more than anything. But I cannot describe the feeling of achievement when I typed in the last few words of the story. It’s better than getting a degree.
2 months ago
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