I’m a sucker for a Google search. I can be in the middle of watching a movie or in the middle of a deep conversation and think I wonder… and reflexively, my hands are already opening my web browser app, searching for the answer. In many ways, it feels like a modern miracle that we’re able to find out the distance to the moon or Carrie Bradshaw’s apartment in real life in mere seconds. In other ways, my procrastination has never been so enabled by “research”. As it pertains to writing or things-I-can-research-to-avoid-actually-writing, my Google Search history is full of prompts like 
  morning routines for writers 

        famous authors morning routines 

        famous authors favorites authors 

        best pen for journaling 

        best books on writing 

        how to actually get yourself to write 

        best opening book sentences of all time 

While this “very important research” has amounted to a wealth of fun facts and open browser tabs, what it has not amounted to is pages of my own writing.  

My search bar addiction exists as a means to distill overwhelm into instruction. Afterall, it’s easier to fill a search bar than a blank page. If someone could just tell me the one way to go about writing, I’d get to doing it. If there was a foolproof morning routine laid out by the latest NYT Bestselling Author, I could copy-and-paste that routine to my own life and finally be the writer I always wanted to be. If there was a golden pen — or goose, for that matter — that unlocked writing power for others, I’d buy that pen — or goose — and I’d be able to write once and for all. 

Of course, the only way to be a writer is to write, and I’m happy to report I’ve been doing that more than ever. Four assignments into this course, and I’ve written two book ideas, a scene of dialogue, character worksheets, and the synopsis of my book. I repeat — I have written THE SYNOPSIS OF MY BOOK! All the Google searches in the world couldn’t get me to tackle this daunting task and now that it’s done, I’m staring down the barrel of an assignment I can’t believe I’m not dreading: Chapter One. 

At this point, I’m starting to understand the genius of this course. Not only in the accountability of the team at IFW and my mentor/instructor — both of which have been game-changers in the battle of me vs. me — but also in the ways the curriculum builds on itself. I’ve already written and received feedback on the action scene that will be my building block for chapter one. I’ve learned the flow of leaning into my ideas, writing my draft, revising my draft, submitting it to my mentor for feedback, and revising it again once that feedback is received. I’ve mapped out my main characters. The main events of my book are laid out in my synopsis. Slowly but surely, these assignments have chipped away at the same intimidation that leaves me Googling quick fixes and answers as an aversion to taking on the blank page. With each achievement under my belt, bolstered by the feedback and encouragement of my mentor, I’ve felt more equipped to tackle the next step in writing my book. 

It hasn’t happened overnight. It’s taken a lot of time and work. It’s taken the support of an instructor who tells me my assignment must be under “x” amount of words and turned in by “x” date. It’s taken months of learning and writing and revising and staying the course (pun-intended). Even still, I have years worth of searches with very little writing to show for their efficacy. Information has not always meant action. In this way, I can’t believe what I’ve accomplished in just a few months’ time. I can say with confidence, it’s more than I’ve accomplished in years of wanting, wishing, or willing my way into writing. And just like that, — in the famous words of Carrie Bradshaw whose apartment in real life happens to be located at 66 Perry St in the West Village — I find myself typing “Chapter One” onto the blank page. I feel as certain as ever: This is where my story begins.