Your Artist Lurks in the Shadows

It is time to discover the truth. I spent the last three months writing my 45,000 word novel. I finished it, found an editor, sent it off, and started on book two. I can’t stop writing. I tapped into the fountain inside of me, and it is deep. It flows. Three months ago I was in the same place that you might be right now. Take this from me as I reach my hand out to you. Write. Not for anyone, but for yourself. Give yourself permission to take the time for you. Something deep inside of you has put this page in front of you. You feel the clack of the typewriter within your being. It wants to free you. Here is the skeleton key to your own stream of words.

Buy a typewriter. One that works. I’m not an ebay guy, but that’s where I got mine. I love it. 1937 Royal Model O. I’ve banged out about 45,000 words on this instrument, and I love every minute of it. It’s a cliche, but it is mine. The model is not a collectors item so I got it for a good price, completely refurbished. I knock out about five pages a day now. When I am done with the five pages I take a number two pencil and mark it all up. After a couple of days, I take it to my work office with the overhead light off and just the desk lamp on and enter the pages into Google Docs. I can get to them anywhere on any device, and I know it is safe.

When the typewriter arrives, don’t be scared. It’s you, its always been you. The acorn knows it’s an oak tree. Get out of the way. Let the stream flow. I did one simple thing to start. I invited my kids into my home office. One is twelve and the other is four. We wrote a story together. One of us started the first sentence, and we all built from there. I pecked along on the typewriter and we created. It was a moment of triumph. It showed me the high you get from writing, the enjoyment as the letters bang against the paper and leave their symbols to bear.

Write about something that you know. Move scenes from one part of your past into another. Put the best of the best together and the best of the worst. Enjoy yourself laughing out loud as the keys clack away. Polish your typewriter with the tears of joy and pain. Let it out. That critic that you have looking on right now, cast it away. Give that Critic the job of being your deadline wench. Promise to give it a new chapter every week. Let that be your critic. Twelve weeks and you will have twelve chapters. Your novella. I’m here, waiting for you. What about a plan? A great outline. A sketch of it all. The gods laugh with thunder when we plan. Let your gods write through you. The stream has its own power and direction. You’ll see by the end of chapter one.

If you loved this article you probably graduated with a 2.0 in literature at your University like me. Look for my novel series ‘The Industrialist’ glued to the bathroom wall of a truck stop near you. I write novels in the genre of business fiction about manufacturing in the deep South