I am beginning to think that I have set myself up for failure, setting a goal of 60,000 words plus a poem a day this for this month.
I should be at 20,000 words by the end of the day today. I am currently at just over 10k. I might get to 15 by the end of the day – if I can stay focused and keep the pain under control.
(I managed to pinch my sciatic nerve yesterday and there is no such thing as a comfortable position. I might even have to break down and go to a doctor, except that would require getting dressed and leaving the house, neither of which is on today’s agenda. I have to work the next three days (then have three days in a row off!) so we’ll see how it goes.)
Meanwhile, the writing is crawling along.
Part of me wants to take a break from my current project and write something different, at least for a few thousand words, but another part of me says to stay with the current project because I am so close to finishing it. (Well, finishing the first draft, at any rate.)
(And by “something different” I mean “start something new” which I am trying really hard not to do this year as I really want to get some things finished. But there is this science fiction story that has been around for a few years and it is getting increasingly persistent in its nagging. Maybe in November…)
So far I am doing well at resisting the siren call of the new project, but I feel my resolve weakening.
“You know you want to,” a seductive voice whispers. Yes, I do want to. But I also want some finished projects to show for this insane challenge I’ve set myself.
“It will boost your word count,” a rational voice insists. This voice is harder to deny: working on something new and fresh will breathe life into my creativity, make writing fun again – until that book, too, becomes work.
And then where will I be?
Right where I am now, except buried under yet another unfinished project waiting for me to settle down to work.
No thanks.
