I planned on finishing my first book, Trying To Make It, by my birthday. That was in June.
Then I decided it'd be done by September 22nd. That rolled around and I was only five chapters in.
Then I drew a hard line - it would be written and ready for editing by November 9th. It's now November 27th and I'm up to seven chapters.
Obviously, it's not going as planned. But damn, those seven chapters are on-fire kinda juicy! Thick with emotion, rich in story—drool-worthy fiction at its finest.
And while I made all those arbitrary deadlines that came and went, I also let 99 inspired writings flow through me into form. The same 99 musings from this micro blog that will comprise my actual first book: Come Out And Play. I'm really glad I fucked up my own plan, because this soulburst of writings is wildly creative, fun and fluid. The stories touch the part of us that aches to transcend the sadness, depression, angst . . . and be free within ourselves again.
While creating along a time-track too divine for me to control, I loosened my grip on the plan and pure magic slipped out.
I guess - "Life is what happens to us while we are making other plans." (Allen Saunders)