On being brave

One of the hardest things about writing for me has been the lack of something concrete to show for it. I don't mean that I am not producing anything, just that you can't exactly sit it on the coffee table and admire it. The biggest example of this is from my experience with NaNoWriMo. 50,000 words of mostly crap, taking space on my hard drive, never to be seen again.

But maybe not.

The other day I had dinner with a writer friend and she wondered aloud if there might be something to mine from that material. So I sent it to her.

Yes, I sent her my really awful writing, most of which will be more painful to read than my eighth grade diary. I sent it because she knows my other writing. I also sent it because I want to be brave.

Which brings me around to the knick knacks. What I have to show for my work in this case is a smidge of personal development, which I think probably comes, for me at least, in turquoise and red.

And looks perfect on my coffee table (if you just imagine it).