One Day Before May.

I was looking for some motivation yesterday, so I looked up writing tips. Something to get me going because it's okay to pursue something that will pay the bills, but I couldn't live with myself if I ever lost sight of the dream I have to become a professional writer.

There were tons of tips:

• Don't edit until your draft is finished
• Kill your darlings
• Short sentences
• Make every word count

And the one that stood out more than anything else,

• Keep writing

Write everyday. Something, anything that keeps you going. I look at it as a way to keep me grounded. In a time where my life seems to be moving a million miles a second, writing seems to be the only thing  that keeps me from hyperventilating in a dark corner.

The tippers go on to explain that it doesn't matter that what you write isn't the best thing you'll ever see. It takes a long time to get to that point and with out trying you have nothing to show.

One other thing I took away from my reading was that You need to get over the fear of writing badly.

I have never had someone say that to me before. Throughout all of my creative writing courses, no one has ever said that you need to just get used to the fact that you will rarely produce something that you are happy with on the first go. This is also where Kill your darlings comes in. Even if you are completely happy with something you write, you're more than likely going to have to select all and press Delete.

Then I remembered a challenge that I took up a couple of years ago which I called "A Prompt a Day in May". It's very simple. Just write everyday for the month of May. It can be anything (I leaned more toward the creative side) and you're able to use prompts for help/inspiration. I remember how impressed I was with myself after completing the month and realized that different story ideas kept popping into my head, even when I felt like they never would. They say that forcing yourself to write even when you think you can't gets your creative juices flowing. After some time your mind is tuned into picking up little details in your everyday life that you can include into your stories are even use for the basis of one.

I found the best way to keep this going was to keep a small jounral with me at all times. Something that you could easily pull out when you notice something that intruiges you, that way you can catch it in the moment instead of risking the feeling getting stale.

This is why I have decided to bring myself back to writing with this challenge once again. I will not become one of those people who gets caught up in life and forgets what they really want to accomplish. Instead of sitting at watching and episode of Greys Anatomy, I can spend that time writing. If writing is as important to me as I say it is, then it's time to stop negecting it.

Hopefully this challenge will not only bring me to start projects, but finish them as well.

So, look out for my daily posts starting tomorrow. Let's see if I can get an actual following because of it as well.

Cheers!

Don't you hate it when your reading life is better than you real life? Eventually you have to come back to reality and it'll be right there to remind you why you hate it so much.

Sometimes I'd just like to run away to a place where no one knows me because she's there living the perfect life and I'm here falling to pieces.

Work in progress?

She didn't even notice the gaping pothole until her rubber boot sank right in as the puddle filling it spilled over the rim creating a swimming pool for her foot. Rain was okay when she was at home under her covers reading a book with a cup of cocoa. Rain was not okay when she had to trek across town. Especially when she had to go somewhere she's been avoiding for weeks.

She could have turned back. It would be typical of her. She's done it at least four times before this one. The first time it was because the day was too warm and sunny to ruin. The second was because she felt like the garden was more important, and there were so many weeds to take care of. Funny think is that she hated gardening.

She cursed the rain and the sky as she continued on. It had to be done. She was not going to make another journey out to this side of town again. Just making it out of the front door was too far to turn back. She set her pace faster, ignoring the sloshing in her left boot. But what if she got trench-foot or whatever they called it back in WWI? They would have to amputate her leg and she would always be reminded of the day she decided to go see him during a torrential down poor.

A half grunt, half sigh came out of her mouth as she decided that she would stop at the next sidewalk bench to empty her shoe. Why they hell did she have to go out to see him? Then the thought of him coming out to see her, stepping into her apartment, sitting on her couch, made a lump form in her throat. No, it was definitely better that she was going to see him. Then he could picture her sitting in his living room, drinking out of his cup and once she left she would never have to think of him again.

The black umbrella hangs low around her head and she uses the location of people's feet to dodge them, hoping the top of the umbrella does not poke someone in the eye. Lifting her head she notices a bench to her right just a couple of sidewalk squares away. Hopefully the trench foot has not set in yet.

She sits down on the soaked wood, grateful for her rain jacket blocking out the dampness. Tucking the umbrella between her cheek and collarbone she grabbed her purple boot watching about two cups of puddle water pour out onto the sidewalk. And right then it was as if a wall hit her. Tears started stinging her eyes and she just sat there with her boot in her hand, a drenched sock on her foot and possibly the first case of trench-foot since 1921. A cold spell ran through her body and a sob formed from the pit of her throat before reaching her mouth. She could turn back. Try again another day. A warm day, sunny with a slight breeze.

She tried to cough out the lump in her throat but it wasn't doing any good. Taking in deep breaths through her nose. Get it together. She needed to get it together. She couldn't show up with tears running down her face. There was no way.

Slipping her boot back on she got up and kept moving. Fine, if she needed to cry then fine. She had until she got to the front door and then she would have to put them away and put her big girl face on. Another 15 minutes and she would be there.

She stopped once she noticed the red flag up on the grey tin mailbox. Maybe he stopped checking the mail or maybe he wasn't home. The path way up to his flat was covered with uneven grey stones, blades of grass sticking through and if she wasn't careful she would trip for sure. He seemed to have mowed the lawn recently which was a good sign. He hadn't left yet, but it was a sign that he was planning on leaving soon.

She took one more deep breath and scrubbed her face with her palms. No more tears. She set her face somberly, biting the inside of her cheek as she plotted the safest path to the blue wooden door.

She surveyed the brass knocker. It was a lion head with the knocker ring going through its mouth. It was one of the reasons he bought the place. She chose not to use it. Maybe if he didn't hear her knock she could go home and feel content enough with her attempt.

She lifted her right hand and formed a fist to knock. She paused, listening for any movement inside. Her heart hammered in her chest and it became very difficult for her to hear anything else. Calm down, just calm down.

Then she heard it. The latch on the inside lock slid open and the brass knob turned. She sucked air into her lungs as the door pulled open revealing a late middle-aged man with a scruffy beard and a faded red t-shirt with a worn out, peeling Manchester United logo on it.

"Hello--" He stops mid-sentence when her face registers in his brain.

"Telly?" He asks in disbelief. Nothing could prepare her for this and it takes her a moment to get her mouth working.

"Hello, Dad," She said firmly, pushing past him and walking toward the couch.