Until I realized that I couldn’t write a novel.
In fact, around October 31st, it occurred to me that I actually quite suck at writing fiction in general. I had never really considered my writing, or most writing, for that matter, in such broad strokes as “fiction” and “non-ficiton,” but the more I thought about it, what I write on this blog and anywhere else is basically non-fiction. Actually, the last “fiction” thing I wrote was probably in some “creative writing” class at Timnath Elementary School, about two decades ago. If I’m not mistaken, it would have probably involved a talking dog and the DeLorean from Back to the Future.
But I digress. The main point is that I write non-fiction. Moreover, I actually strive to write essays. When I was a high school student, I probably would have been amazed to know that I’d turn into such a nerdhole who enjoys writing essays about current topics in the world, but there you have it. And some of my favorite authors –David Sedaris, Dave Barry, David Rakoff, and what the hell why are all of these guys named Dave, now that I think about it– are also non-fiction essayists. I guess that propensity towards non-fiction explains why my novels were turning out to be such shit. Once I came to that realization, I concluded that I’d in fact not write a novel. I just couldn’t face the self-recriminations and guilt that I would feel if I set out to do something so grand, only to fail… or worse yet, to succeed and to actually complete a novel, although likely a novel that I feared even I myself would find tacky.
So, I’m gonna keep writing non-fiction. I was actually going to continue my Blogtoberfest idea I started last year, but unfortunately I remembered that idea around October 17th, far too late to pick up the Blogtoberfest celebrations in drunken earnest. But I’ll see what I can do about making this November a so-called “Novemblog.” As usual, I’ve got quite a few blog ideas on little sticky notes and spiral notebooks, so I’ll try to flesh those out in more detail this month.