It’s only six days until April, which means that six days from now I’ll be embarking on a new venture. I really, really, really want it to work this time.  And by ‘work’ I mean I don’t want to give-up 1/8th of the way in.  I want to – no matter how badly crap I think it is – finish it. 

Finish.  Get to the end.  Find an ending – any ending – and get there.  Cross the finish line.  Find the holy grail.  Kiss the knight or the frog or the ground of a new land.  Hear the aria from the rotund diva.  Whatever you want to call it.  And for no reason other than, just to prove I can.  Well, not no other reason – there are plenty – but in the event that there was no other reason, that would be The One.

I’m talking about this.

Now, I know I made a truly pissweak attempt at this - its novel-writing equivalent - and gave up around the 14% mark.  And it barely saw the light of day because I hated it so much.  I hated writing it and I hated reading it back and I hated my poorly-defined characters, my shallow-yet-indulgent attempt at premise, and my unbearably laboured prose.

(Maybe I should post some excerpts on here for a laugh?  Titled: “Why Keira should never become a novelist”)

But with this I feel I have a chance.  I’ve spent time on my characters and my plot.  I’m writing about what I know, yet – hopefully – not too close to my own life that it seems precious and self-indulgent.  And, eventually, I think it’ll be funny (and by ‘eventually’ I mean in 10 drafts’ time).

But even if not – and even if it’s all crap and unfunny and dumb and “[I] know deep down in [my] little heart that it’s $hit” as my last creative writing teacher once said in class (not to me specifically, as far as I could tell) - I still want to finish it.

I’ve also psyched myself out of expecting too much.  I have crippled myself countless times by my unforgiving expectation of instant brilliance.  No more.  I just want to finish the thing and, I dare say, to enjoy the process.  Then I can figure out “what next?”.

This determination – and this public-ish (I say ‘ish’ because, really, how many people actually read this blog?) pledge – could have one of at least two effects:

1) I’ll disappear from The Daley Rant until May.  Though, I’ll be doing a show in May and travelling in June, which could mean you won’t hear from me till July – during which time I’ll be scourged with Seasonal Affective Disorder, which means you shan’t want to read me until September.

Or…

2) I write on here a lot. Either due to: 
(a) The act of writing begetting more writing, words flying in every direction, a magical creative flow with inspiration gushing out of every orifice (ew)
or
(b) Procrastination.

Either way, I ask you to hold me to this project.

Feel free to harass me.  Ask how far I’ve got.  Ask me at the end of each day “Have you written your 3.3 pages?”

Just to qualify, though, I’ve never been a “little bit each day” kind of person.  I’m a crammer.  Instead of 3.3 pages per day, it’s more likely to be 23.1 pages every Sunday.  So maybe ask about that instead.