A check-in, I mean. On the book.
When last we spoke of it, I was flinging ambitious word count goals around. How am I doing?
60,860 words. That’s less than 10,000 words from where I was when I proclaimed that I would write…5,000 words a week. It’s been almost two months.
So. Yeah. That goal isn’t going to hold. I do feel good about the writing I’ve done since I set the bar high, but obviously I’m not clearing that bar.
Not going to fret about it. I don’t find public shaming to be a good motivator for myself.
Why go public, then? Because this is it. This is what writing is. There’s nothing to do about it but to try again tomorrow. (No, not tomorrow—today.) Writing is hard. It’s hard to fit into a real life. Someone said once that if you can do anything else but write, you should. I don’t prescribe to that. I can do what I do at my job, but I can also write. On the days I do it, I’m such a better person. I’m kinder. I’m more patient. I’m more focused. And I can’t wait to get back to it. But I have to, and I do. I do wait, and sometimes I have to wait a while. This week got away from me for various reasons. That’s OK. Next week. This week, I mean, starting today. I can do other things, but this is the thing that belongs to me.
In other news, I’m having a late-adapter love affair with Twitter and have added my feed to this page. Boring? Can’t tell yet. At least there might be fresh content here more often.