The first draft is just you telling yourself the story.
Terry Pratchett
That feels true tonight. I’m just telling myself the story. Messy, with extra angst and anger and explanation and thoughts. I’m just telling myself the story. That’s what writing has really always been to me. Just a continuation of the stories I’d make up to pass long car rides or to help myself fall asleep. I’m just telling myself the story. Lingering over moments and emotions. Reimagining the same scene over and over again until it feels right. If we don’t write for ourselves first, why write?
Here are my last sentences written from this past week:
- 1/18: We pass CJ in the third mile — a sure sign we’re going too fast.
- 1/19: I firmly do not make eye contact.
- 1/20: I didn’t think I could hate her as much as I do right now.
- 1/21: When I walk back to the road, no one follows.
- 1/22: If it weren’t for lemon ice, drizzled with raspberry preserves, the day would have been a total wash.
- 1/23: He’d put on his employee mandated cap over a yellow and green striped bandana.
- 1/24: Too big, Mom used to complain.
- 1/25: Tomorrow?
With Love
Natalie