I Wrote Twice A Week For Two Months: How Did It Change Me?

(Edit: This was written last year, updated to rehome in this new Writers community)

I'll tell you what, I'm fucking tired.

To make a long story short . . . yeah, I'm very tired. I am also: triumphant, elated, maybe a bit vulnerable, and yes, definitely tired. But this is all just a vague wrap-up of what was, perhaps my second most successful fall in my life at this point. There was a lot more going on here than the title would suggest, so . . . scroll with me for a bit. Let's chat.

Once Upon A September

September 1st is when Halloween Season starts, for me. I mean, it's all year around but like- the public spectacle for Halloween begins then. And two weeks prior, an idea had sparked and slowly started to polish inside my mind.

Since April I'd been banging out an article a week, a steady schedule that saw marked improvement for my stats and subscribers. I'd even submitted my first piece to my very first literary magazine of choice (shout out to Taco Bell Quarterly)! In August I saw my greatest increase in new subscribers since this feature was implemented, and I was way too excited, ha. But Halloween was coming up and, broke and uncertain, I was facing the potential of a cheerless Spooky Season.

Until an idea sparked to life in my mind.

An idea of a self appointed fiction writing challenge for Halloween. One story a week, for eight weeks, until October 31st! I confess that the two or three attempts at writing fiction before had been unremarkable, even dull . . . but I wanted to improve. I was in a season of change, after all- and I was getting some real, true inspiration to try things and improve myself. I worried though, that since my first few tries at fiction were lackluster, that I would lose readership- so I compromised. I would try my self-made challenge, and also publish an independent article of something Halloween themed, and hopefully that would even things out.

The Wicked Carousel flash fiction challenge was born on September 1st with "A Small, Happy Town." Each story would be max 1000 words or less, focused on a spooky theme, and published every Monday. I would then have the regular article posted on Tuesday, and my articles are typically about 1100+ words so . . . roughly 2100 words a week. I was nervous, and excited. I was really going for this, wasn't I? My last self-made goal was a drawing challenge for Instagram that I abandoned after maybe four days. I'm just not good at following through on stuff I set for myself. Deadlines for work or school? Yeah I can do that. Something just for me? I can go fuck myself.

But this . . . I felt like this wasn't for me. It was for Halloween.

And I Would Not Dissappoint . . . them. Whoever they are who wield the power and custom of this wonderful time of the year. Sam. Bone Daddy. Daddy Pumpkin. Whatever. Man why are so many of my Halloween patrons masculine presenting . . . food for thought later. Anyway, it was great! After struggling with the first story, I just got so inspired! I would just be in the middle of writing a story, then another idea would pop up and in order not to lose it, I'd open up another tab for vocal and create a story, just write down the basic idea for the title, and get back to it later. I was set up to write four stories ahead of time. I was also getting so much inspiration for my other articles! It was fantastic!

They Had Me In The First Half, Not Gonna Lie . . .

October came with a sort of . . . edge to it.

Part of that is because I spent its first three days miserable in the never ending rain and depressing gloom of New Jersey. The other part is because I took on another challenge. I was participating in Flashtober, a fun mini challenge presented by Twitter user wordsbydana. Every day she'd put up a word, a prompt you'd use in your 100-word response to the challenge each day.

I was still pumped up on my continued success with keeping up with my own challenge and other writings. September had been a plentiful month, and not just for prose. I'd finally gotten a job, part time and remote! And I had submitted another piece of writing (which would be rejected in a few weeks, but quickly brushed off and submitted to another place because, again, I was riding the wave of optimism and bold fortune). I said to myself, oh what? Just 100 words? Pfft, I won't even need to use all of them.

But my schedule was filling up quickly. Scouring Submittable, writing for Vocal, the flashtober challenge, my new job . . . I had been basically in stasis for months prior and now I was going into overdrive! I was writing, I loved what I was writing, I was ahead of schedule and not scrambling for words, and I was loving it.

For two weeks.

The confusion, desperation, and general fatigue that fogged over the last two weeks of October was the Boss Battle of Fall. Suddenly I was writing and trashing storylines, I was confused over what to write . . . I suddenly remembered that I had done nothing spooky in October, and had to figure out how I was going to fix that . . . I was tired, did I mention that? Like, literally so tired of staring at a screen and watching words appear through complex functions via the magic of tip-tapping keys.

And it did not help AT ALL when I decided that in the last week of October I would just . . . write an article every day for a week? I-?

Listen, I stand by what I wrote earlier: I loved what I was writing. I was happy with it. But I won't lie to you, those last two articles I wrote on the 29th and 30th were the "I'm phoning it in" articles. I was . . . at a loss! But I still liked them. Still, I can't tell you how happy I was to just get that last story out there.

In Conclusion: What Did I Gain?

Yeah, I can keep making the little fatigue jokes, but honestly? I gained a lot of important insight into myself.

Firstly, that I do have the power to keep commitments I make to myself. If I truly believe in it, and myself . . . I can work really hard for it. I can focus and uphold a goal.

Second, that I love writing. I mean I knew that but . . . I returned to writing at a very low point in my life, and it was a . . . a crutch? No, it was a wispy little thread of a lifeline. Proof that I could do something other than continuously fuck up. I could create good things. I could be a good thing. A writer.

See- I had primarily been attracted to Vocal (to returning to writing) because of this idea that I could make it a side hustle. Have another stream of income and through that little relief, make another choice for myself. It didn't work out like that, and I made peace with it after a year and a half; I got a little lump of money twice from this site, and a lot of practice. I would obsessively check my stats and wallet, yearn for the rush I imagined others must feel when they started reaching big numbers. But what writing for Halloween did for me was . . . free me of those invisible conditions I'd attached to my writing like shackles.

"You can keep writing because it might make you money."

"You should try harder to make more profitable articles, that's your goal."

Those reasons are no longer why I write- hadn't been for a long while, even if it took me ages to realize that.

I write because it frees up space for happiness. Because it is freedom, to prick the swelling balloon of thoughts and let them pour out into half hazard paragraphs and silly sentences. Writing is not my side hustle, it's not my hobby- it is my quiet, deep running passion. Money does not matter. Fame does not matter- actually, I'd like to stay very far away from it. The only thing that matters is that I never let my love of writing die like I let it did before. After my third story "A Star Is Born", I checked the stats and realized nobody had read anything I'd written since September. Can you believe I felt good about that? I could have stopped my challenge at any time, and tried to chase those evergreen article titles and buzzy SEO words for top articles. But that long line of zeroes didn't hurt me like it did the first year I wrote. The red percentage wasn't intimidating. Instead, I felt . . . content. Like something settled in me, gentle and heavy, and just right.

I know it sounds weird but . . . I was! Because I was writing the things I wanted to read. I was improving my writing skills like I'd wanted, I was reading more and getting inspired more, all because I set myself to the task of writing my love for my favorite time of year in a way that touched me. I'm not a writer to chase checks, or contract deals, or formal acclaim. I'm a writer because I want to connect to you, the stars, the air, and water.

And I am going to allow that connection time to settle and steep inside me, by taking a break. My reward to myself is a long winter break from Vocal. There's a lot happening now in my life that I want to focus on, instead of fretting over articles on here. It won't be for very long- I'll rest over winter and return in the spring (there may be an article "sequel" I'm toying with for January), and in the meantime I'll savor the changes my life is taking. I'll write more confessions for lit mags, and figure out what the hell I'm going to do with my new substack (you should follow it, I'm sure I'll come up with something good maybe), plus I need to be fully focused on this final battle for Twitter's soul- there's just a lot to do, you understand.

Well . . . I suppose this is it. Easy winter to all of you- keep your bellies warm and your hearts full. May your worries slumber and your demons throw you ragers. Or, you know, whatever.

Sweet Dreams.