1,000 words challenge for someone who hasn't written them in one go - like ever!

What fancies your imagination?

A thousand words a day. Can I even do it? For how many days must I do it? Well, let’s start with one. One day. Today. That’s it.

I must write 1,000 words about anything that fancies my imagination. What fancies my imagination?

Will this end up in my drafts because all I end up writing about is nothing? Filling words into the void. Type type type. See what I did there?

Some would call it smart, some would call it cheating. I think it’s a bit of both. A challenge is a challenge in all senses. I must complete it anyhow. In any case, this puts us on a journey. Not of a thousand words a day, but of watching me write - with heart, with love, with coffee-induced excitement (or nerves).

For how long can you write about nothing?

I doubt for very long.

At some point this rotting narrative shall open into my creative genius. Lay a red carpet for it to flirt on. Roll on. Lyrically lilt on. Dazzle your brain.

At some point, it’ll convert from a meaningless attempt at creating a disciplined writing schedule to true storytelling. Be patient with me. You can give me tips if you like? I’m a dry sponge waiting to get wet. Please don’t read this the wrong way.

I love being wet. With rain. With dewy mossy grass underfoot. With sweat.

I digress. I was asking if you had any tips for me to become a better writer? I can share with you two of my favorite lessons, by no means original.

1. Write what you know to be true.

   Pretty simple? In fact, this has saved me many times from writer’s block. I simply scribble away my day. My toothache. My feelings about the texture of my yoga mat. There’s no restriction on what you can write about. Or how much. So write what you know to be true.

2. Kill your darlings.
   I love it and hate it. WHY must I kill my sweet, hard-earned, well-sculpted characters? This advice made no sense to me. Until it did. When you take away parts of the story, it becomes easy to digest. (Debatable?!) Bear with me. I think the reader is intelligent. Not dumb. Our minds easily fill in the blanks. No need to litter.

Although I might not be following advice number two for this newsletter. I’m free-writing this. Directly onto the New Post feature on Substack. Words tumble from my fingertips. Land on their limbs, twisted and turning red on this draft. An army of sexy spelling mistakes I’ll correct after I’m done writing this for you. So far, I’ve made it halfway. (i think??)

OOF writing is hard. How do people even write books?

BOOKS! I love to read. Bury my bulbous knowledge-absorbing head into a story and check-out of the real life I’m supposed to live. Or hop into it with a fresh perspective. A better approach. Sometimes I am sad after a story finishes. I want more more more.

I want to stay afloat in this world my brain has imagined. Co-created with the author. A world that’ll always be mine because nobody truly can get a glimpse of it. It can be neon birds and monochrome cutlery.

Walking butterflies. Talking bears. Crocodiles that cry real tears.

And so, I set on this task of a thousand words a day. Each word a baby step, a footfall on the path to discovery. Sometimes, the words come easily, flowing like a river after heavy rain, each one cascading effortlessly into the next. Other times, they trickle like droplets from a leaky faucet, each one painstakingly eked out of my reluctant mind.

Today, my imagination fancies the idea of a hidden world within our own.

A place where the ordinary becomes extraordinary. The mundane transforms into the magical.

I’m thinking about a nondescript door at the end of a dusty alleyway. To most, it’s just a door, chipped paint and creaky hinges. But to those who know, it can be a portal to a place where the rules of reality are flexible. Like contortionists at the circus.

Your door can be white, bruised brown, or burgundy. Beyond this door lies a city built not of bricks and mortar, but of dreams and stardust.

The streets are paved with forgotten wishes. They shimmer under the soft glow of bioluminescent lampposts. The buildings are constructs of imagination—each one a unique manifestation of its creator's inner world.

Here, the laws of physics bend to the whims of my heart. The air is thick with the scent of possibility.

In this city, time flows. A lazy river, unhurried and meandering. Clocks tick to the rhythm of your heartbeat. The sun and moon waltz across a sky painted with hues unseen in the waking world.

The past, present, and future mingle freely, and you might find yourself conversing with a younger version of you, or meeting the person you’ll become decades from now.

The inhabitants of this city are as varied as the stars in the sky.

There’s the librarian who guards an endless repository. Stories yet to be told. Holding books, doorways to another world. There’s the street musician whose notes can heal a broken heart. Perhaps inspire a lifelong journey. And then there’s the baker whose pastries are serious addictions. Each bite a burst of joy, sorrow, love, or longing.

Whatever you want. Whatever you want.

As I write, I feel a curious sensation. The words are not just appearing on the screen. They unfurl. Slowly. Like the petals of a scarlet marigold in my mind. Each one revealing a new layer of the story.

It’s as if I’m uncovering something that has always been there. Waiting for me to discover it. Writing is not about creating from nothing. But maybe it is about revealing what is hidden just beneath the surface of consciousness.

The discipline of writing a thousand words a day is like crafting a mosaic. Some days, the tiles of inspiration fit together effortlessly, creating vibrant patterns that dazzle the eye.

Other days, the pieces are jagged and stubborn, requiring patience and skill to find their place within the larger design.

But with dedication and care, the mosaic emerges. As I reach the end of today’s thousand words, I feel accomplished.

It’s a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. Each day, I am building something, word by word, sentence by sentence. And who knows? Maybe one day, these daily efforts will coalesce into something greater, something that resonates with others as much as it does with me.

For now, I’ll keep writing.

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I’ll keep digging into the dark guts of my imagination,
sifting through the dust and shadows,
unearthing stories lurking in the corners,

Each day, it’s a new mess to tinker with,
a fresh wound to poke, a fresh bottle to crack open.
A step forward is still a step forward,
even if it feels like wading through mud.

And hell, who knows where this wild ride will take me?
All I know is that the thrill is real,
and I’m eager to see what madness comes next.

A few of my favorite essays I’ve written here on Substack in the last few months:

• How I write without judgement, & a bit on burning out

• I carry your heart with me, I carry it in my heart

• At the end of the day what matters most is how you feel about yourself

• Stick with people who root for your win

• Who are you when the toast burns? Life stubs your pinky toe & you’re in a rush

Vivillus on Pinterest

The beautiful thing about sharing this is that I can be completely myself (flaws and all) and feel it's okay. I haven’t created a false, exhausting persona of someone who has everything perfectly together and conforms to a shape that will never be me.

I love you!
See you next Wednesday 🧡

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Nature is brimming with poetry, if you just take the time to listen. This 9-page guide offers everything you need to dive into the beauty of nature with a poet’s eye. From choosing the right location to engaging all five senses, this guide will help you unlock the writing potential hidden in leaves, birdsongs, and morning dew. Bonus resources included for even more inspiration!

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