- I don’t always remember to write a review after finishing the book. My memory isn’t what it used to be.
- I copy the same template for all my reviews. My reviews would be a mess if I didn’t structure them.
- I forget some details. Sometimes I’ve even looked up the protagonist’s first name.
- I don’t take notes while I read. Maybe I should.
- I love reviewing physical books. More often than not, they’re fiction. But hopefully one day, I’ll get around to reading more nonfiction.
- I finish every book. I feel like it isn’t fair to the author or potential readers if I only read and review half the novel.
- I use the same phrases in my reviews. There are only so many ways to say I recommend a book.
- I don’t write in books. I can’t do it. At most, I’ll write on a sticky note to mark a specific passage or page.
I have a confession to make. I didn’t write as much as I would’ve liked one day during NaNoWriMo.
To be fair a headache came on and I tried to push through. But I felt horrible. I gave in before I could fill up all the pages I aimed to complete. Because I am who I am, I tried to make up for it. I wanted to compensate.
Then again, I didn’t want to push myself too far to the point where my brain and body broke down on me even more.
A health scare, minor or major, is a reminder that I only have one head and one heart. I have one life. As much as I strive to get a ton of work done every day, there will always be more work than living days.
I’m aware NaNoWriMo is supposed to be a challenge. But I know my limits. And I refuse to risk my well being or ignore warning signs. I hope you don’t either.
I’m all for pushing yourself. But don’t push yourself to the point of pain.
Obviously, I love writing for many reasons. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, I plan to write as long as possible. Less productive days aren’t the end of the world.
Despite everything that happened in November, I had fun.
To be honest, I didn’t leave the house much in past NaNos. But life’s too short to stay at home all the time. Besides, I need to live a little if I’m going to have anything worth writing about.
In recent years, my focus in November has shifted away from reaching 50,000 words to writing but also living throughout the month.
Writing is difficult enough as is. But if you aren’t feeling fine, putting words on the page turns into a great feat. Look after yourself, always. Don’t you dare feel guilty for putting your needs first.
I have a confession to make. I didn't participate in Camp NaNoWriMo this July. Explains the lack of Camp this and Camp that in my blog posts, doesn't it?
I began the month with every intention to write a novel from scratch. Writing 50,000 words wasn't exactly my goal. I just wanted to write a lot of words for a new novel I could potentially publish one day. Perhaps not traditionally but possibly.
Instead, I wrote a bit of everything. Some prose and poems, fiction and nonfiction.
I don't consider July to be a complete failure. After all, I wrote every day.
Even though I didn't manage to complete the first draft of a novel, I did come out of July with some good writing. Pieces I will likely work on further in the future.
I think I needed a month of writing whatever I wanted. Especially since I worked on a novel not that long ago in April. It's like I went straight from April to July, skipping May and June entirely.
Also, I wanted a slight break from everything. From feeling pressured to meet a certain word count, feeling obligated to stick to a singular story, etc.
I like to believe I've spent the past 30 days or so regrouping. I did some soul-searching wherein I ask myself what in the Herminia do I want in this life. And, to be quite honest, I still don't know.
Right now I want to continue writing as long as possible. Wherever I go, whoever I am a year from now or a decade down the road, I hope I'll always remember my humble beginnings.
I cherish the memory of when I first reached for pen and paper, when I finally let my thoughts flow freely. It seemed so easy at the time.
My first ever Camp NaNoWriMo coincided with an attempt at finishing my first novel. I'll spare all of you the boring details. But even now, I can recall a younger Herminia pressing keys with her not so nimble fingers several years ago. She had a blast.
So I owe it to myself to have as much fun as I used to or more every time I voluntarily face the blank page.
I confess my reading habits, so you can read my confessions.
- I don’t always feel like reading. I love a good story as much as the next person. But when I’m mentally exhausted and my eyes are struggling to stay open, I’d prefer to do something that requires less effort on my end. I’m a sensitive person in every regard, my eyes are no exception.
- I haven’t read Harry Potter. Ditto for a lot of other popular novels. I’ve been meaning to write a blog post on why I haven’t read HP. Long story short, I blame J.K. Rowling for everyone and their dog butchering my name (Herminia).
- I try to avoid eBooks or audiobooks. Books are great, don’t get me wrong. There’s just something about the physical copy of a novel that I love. And screen fatigue is a real problem. Also, listening to a story isn’t the same as reading it. I grew up being able to hold a book in my hands and smelling it, turning the pages. I want to grow old doing that too. Imagine me as a old woman with gray hair and bad eyes, squinting at tiny words on pieces of paper.
Confess away if you have anything you need to get off your chest. I promise not to pass judgement.
Because where else can I confess?
- I don’t write every day. Does anyone?
- I don’t feel like writing all the time. That wouldn’t be very healthy.
- I don’t always follow my own writing advice. So take everything you read on this blog with a grain of salt.
- I don’t agree with every bit of feedback I’ve been given. Especially when it comes from someone who hasn’t picked up a book in eight years.
- As much as I love writing, it is not my first love or my last. Reading came before it and blogging happened after.
I don’t usually write poems. Otherwise, I might have named this blog aspiringpoet22.
On the off-chance that I do write poetry, I tend not to edit anything.
So my poetry portfolio assignment isn’t going so well.
I feel like confessing so here goes…
Whenever I read a sentence in a book I don’t particularly like, I edit it in my head.
Then I read the edited sentence and it sounds better. I’m starting to sound a little pretentious. Notice my modesty there. Modest is my middle name in case you didn’t know.
This is why I take so much longer to read anything nowadays.
You don’t see eight year olds doing this. When I was eight, every book read perfectly.
Separating the writer when you’re a reader is harder than it sounds.
It’s hard being smart.
It isn’t easy watching people make silly errors.
It isn’t fun listening to people speak gibberish.
It isn’t pleasant when people around don’t use the cells in their brain.
I’m in a foul mood. I don’t want to offend anybody, but I can’t keep my frustrations inside any longer. Forgive me.
This rant is officially over. Tomorrow’s post will be more lighthearted and maybe even optimistic.