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There’s Only One Thing That Wrecks The High of a Great Writing Day…

Today was a great day to be a writer. In a span of just an hour and a half I flew through over two thousand words.

My novel now sits at one hundred and sixty six pages, Microsoft Word style, and I’m coming up to the halfway done mark. This is such a cool feeling; even though I’m only hashing my way through the first draft, I can see my characters coming to life and the little plot strings tying themselves together in a pretty little bow. Now that is the definition of satisfaction.

But the emotional trauma I’m causing myself… I don’t know if I like that so much. Stirring up trouble in my little fictional world is hurting me just as much as it’s hurting the people in it, and I’m the only one who knows how it’s going to turn out, for Pete’s sake. I made a whole lot of progress on a whole lot of turmoil… and yet I hate angsty situations. I think they’re silly, and in a world filled with novels like Twilight, I try to keep it to a minimum. Plot can be driven forward without hormone-laced teen angst. But when THE RIGHT KIND of angst (last time I’ll use that word, I promise) is necessary (no hormones required), and you’re forced to fly your way through it like a freight train chugging downhill , you come out on the other end looking like you just escaped from Azkaban. (Sorry, Sirius.) I’m a little wounded.

I think I’ll start a support clinic for writers affected negatively by their stories.

I’d make a killing.

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Productivity: How to Stay Motivated When it Just Ain’t Happening.

I’ve decided that summer is an awful time to decide to finish your book. I made the decision to put it on hold a few weeks ago to work on my other projects– which are going along swimmingly, thankyouverymuch– but when I do actually have time to sit down and tackle a very large plot chunk, there are a billion things I find that I want to do instead.

For example:
Just yesterday I sat down to write one of my favourite scenes in the entire novel– I’ve been waiting to hash that sucker out for months and realized that I had to go pick up some interview equipment for work. So I hopped in my car, and ran that errand, excited to get back home and finish ‘er up.

But on my way out of the office, I passed by my gym. The call of the treadmill was too loud to resist. Already in a pair of trainers and yoga pants, I sneaked in for a quick workout.

And then it went downhill from there.

Got home, ate some yogurt. And some toast. And some cereal. In otherwords, the workout was totally useless.

Looked through some old photographs with my grandmother.

Helped clean out my basement.

Went to see a really bad movie with a really good friend.

Put all my laundry away.

Read a book.

And by the time all that was finished, it was one o’clock in the morning, and the scene I have waited forever to write is still locked away in the corners of my brain. I knew that when I started this blog I was going to record triumphs and failures. And though this isn’t quite a failure, it is a minor annoyance, and I’m sure I’m not the only person who’s experienced things like this before.

In the end, I’ve just got to remind myself that this is what I want most in the world, and if I want it, I’ve got to work on it as hard as I can. I’ll just start waking up super early to tackle a couple thousand words or so. Kind of like Stephen King.

A novel can’t be written in a month. Or rather, a good, full-sized one can’t be written in a month (sorry Nanowrimo people). I’m going to write it, and I’m going to write it as well as I can, and if it takes me a year, then it takes me a year. Patience is key. Either way, I will finish it. It is only a matter of when I’ll type the last sentence.

Editing though, that’s a whole other matter.

Those be some waters I’m ‘fraid to tread in, son.

I’ll keep ya’ll updated.