J_Chemist
Well-known member
- Joined
- Jun 17, 2022
- Messages
- 2,191
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Hey y'all. Going to go on a little personal rant here.
Sometimes, I find it baffling to think of how long I've been writing for a single story. Every now and then I think about how much time I've spent sitting down, typing away at my weekly chapters, thinking of what I want to have happen in my story as it grows and develops, and what I've accomplished after those countless hours and weekends spent just grinding away. When I do so, I find myself almost in awe of it all. Truly. When I started, I never expected to do much with this novel of mine. I never expected to do more than maybe a few chapters here and there before inevitably getting made a fool by some commenters and zero bombed out of existence. When that didn't happen and when I got my first few followers, 5 Star ratings, and some positive feedback, I just kept going. I kept building on the world I created and kept expanding on the weird concept I came up with on a whim until it became something... almost living, in a sense. What my novel is now compared to what I planned it to be are entirely different. So much so that I wonder what my past self would think of it.
It's also sort of amazing to think of what I've done IRL in between those weekends. How much time has passed, where I've been, things I've done. What's happened with family, friends, and others. I started this novel over three years ago on a bet. A friend of mine always said my writing was pretty good, good enough to be put into a book if I ever decided to write one. Then, after we looked over some Roleplay posts and whatnot, we calculated that I'd written enough to actually publish a book or two. It was wild, those numbers. She told me if I just put an ounce of brainpower into a novel, she bet I could make something pretty fun.
Almost three years later, I hit a milestone. 600K words. A number I've only seen in other people's bank accounts who were better off than me. A number I've only seen on scoreboards in video games. I have over 400 people who regularly view my book, friends I've made because of this novel of mine, and I've even found this place that's proven to be a fun little hole to peek into. I've grown as a writer, developed my skills and wit, studied subjects I never would have without this book, and now it's become a staple in my life. I've found myself spending my weekends and free time happily tapping away on G.Docs, crafted chapters where my menace to society of an MC stumbles his way through the plot. I've cried while writing. Felt anger. Hated myself. I've spent days, torn over a fiction of a world that I myself created out of fear that I might fuck up. I've struggled during that creation process, failed and taken several L's at the hands of reviewers and commenters. I've rewritten the thing almost from scratch.
But, a year after that grind of a rewrite, I find that I did it not out of need or hate for what I wrote. No, I found that I did it out of pride. I wanted to create not a perfect novel but one that could be read over and over, one that was fun and one that made sense. One that stood out from the others because of my diversion from typical tropes and narratives. I took pride in my work because in doing so, I knew it would better the experience for my readers. And then I kept going, 0.5 star bombers be damned.
Now I'm here. 600k later and on course for 1 million words due to the scope of my project of a series. An insane number that I would never have ever thought within reach, but a number I now realize is inevitable.
TL;DR: I hit 600K words. Holy fuck. Never thought I'd get here, but here we are. My fingers and wrists hurt. Send help.
Sometimes, I find it baffling to think of how long I've been writing for a single story. Every now and then I think about how much time I've spent sitting down, typing away at my weekly chapters, thinking of what I want to have happen in my story as it grows and develops, and what I've accomplished after those countless hours and weekends spent just grinding away. When I do so, I find myself almost in awe of it all. Truly. When I started, I never expected to do much with this novel of mine. I never expected to do more than maybe a few chapters here and there before inevitably getting made a fool by some commenters and zero bombed out of existence. When that didn't happen and when I got my first few followers, 5 Star ratings, and some positive feedback, I just kept going. I kept building on the world I created and kept expanding on the weird concept I came up with on a whim until it became something... almost living, in a sense. What my novel is now compared to what I planned it to be are entirely different. So much so that I wonder what my past self would think of it.
It's also sort of amazing to think of what I've done IRL in between those weekends. How much time has passed, where I've been, things I've done. What's happened with family, friends, and others. I started this novel over three years ago on a bet. A friend of mine always said my writing was pretty good, good enough to be put into a book if I ever decided to write one. Then, after we looked over some Roleplay posts and whatnot, we calculated that I'd written enough to actually publish a book or two. It was wild, those numbers. She told me if I just put an ounce of brainpower into a novel, she bet I could make something pretty fun.
Almost three years later, I hit a milestone. 600K words. A number I've only seen in other people's bank accounts who were better off than me. A number I've only seen on scoreboards in video games. I have over 400 people who regularly view my book, friends I've made because of this novel of mine, and I've even found this place that's proven to be a fun little hole to peek into. I've grown as a writer, developed my skills and wit, studied subjects I never would have without this book, and now it's become a staple in my life. I've found myself spending my weekends and free time happily tapping away on G.Docs, crafted chapters where my menace to society of an MC stumbles his way through the plot. I've cried while writing. Felt anger. Hated myself. I've spent days, torn over a fiction of a world that I myself created out of fear that I might fuck up. I've struggled during that creation process, failed and taken several L's at the hands of reviewers and commenters. I've rewritten the thing almost from scratch.
But, a year after that grind of a rewrite, I find that I did it not out of need or hate for what I wrote. No, I found that I did it out of pride. I wanted to create not a perfect novel but one that could be read over and over, one that was fun and one that made sense. One that stood out from the others because of my diversion from typical tropes and narratives. I took pride in my work because in doing so, I knew it would better the experience for my readers. And then I kept going, 0.5 star bombers be damned.
Now I'm here. 600k later and on course for 1 million words due to the scope of my project of a series. An insane number that I would never have ever thought within reach, but a number I now realize is inevitable.
TL;DR: I hit 600K words. Holy fuck. Never thought I'd get here, but here we are. My fingers and wrists hurt. Send help.
I will probably make another waiting room profile post. ?
