The Strange Hobby of Writing

I like writing.  I have for many years.  I am not a creative person.  For those of you who know that I'm a Medical Laboratory Scientist, this may not come as too much of a surprise.  I don't think there's a lot of room for creativity when we are talking about doing manual differential on a complete blood count.  My creative outlets aren't very CREATE-ive.  I like to dance, and I like music, but I don't create them.  I dance in only one style, and it's one of the most structured forms of dance out there (maybe second to, but probably tied with, ballroom).  Irish dancing is very strict in its form, and even in choreography, there isn't a lot of room for breaking the form.  I like music, but I don't create music.  I just play what others have already written.  I'm not bad at that, but I can't make new stuff.  So, writing is the only time I really create.  The hard part about that is that I am sometimes a great writer. Sometimes I have no idea what that was supposed to be.

At times, I write something so beautiful, so poetic or so funny or clever that I wonder how it ever came out of my mind.  And then, sometimes, I write things that are so mundane, confusing, unoriginal and flat that they make me wonder if I had a brain, let alone an IB diploma and a college degree, when I let them come out of my hands.

And a lot of that is what happens during Nanowrimo.  So, why do I do Nanowrimo?  Because the best and the worst comes out of Nano.  And because in Nanowrimo, I have an incentive to write.  I don't have great self-control.  I don't do things that I am always thankful I did once I actually do them.  Like yoga.  Writing.  Irish dance.  Practicing piano or violin.  Dishes.  Laundry.  Cleaning my bathroom.  Those types of things.  So, Nanowrimo makes it so that if I don't write, or I spend a bunch of time "writing" that actually equates to me staring at a screen for two hours, I am in serious trouble.

I'm sure you've seen my best and worst on this blog.  And I hope that my bests are worth it.

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