I promised myself to write 300 words a day on my new novel, ALMA. That ain't much, and even that ain't happening. Blame my day job, blame the pets, blame my knitting projects, blame CSI reruns every night on SpikeTV. Blame my generally happy life, in which I actually enjoy doing things other than writing. Blame my tired ass, too tired to get up at 5:00, like all the hardcore writers do, or stay up late, like all the drinky writers do. Blame the part of me that would rather do crossword puzzles and read on the subway.
Still, it's happening. Slowly but surely. It's literally taken me a month to have my character walk four blocks. True, she does think a lot on those blocks. And I'm walking those same blocks, literally, looking for metaphors and a little exercise. So I'm pushing out maybe 900 words a week.
Glacial. But I like the material. Glaciers can be exciting.
Or maybe it's more like unpacking a box. It's a dusty box, left behind by someone dead. I'm looking hard at each thing I take out of it. For clues. Connections. History. The Meaning of Life. Soul.
2 comments:
It's all about persistance, Anne. The good news is that at some point, momentum kicks in, and you'll be laying down more words than 300 each day and hating that you have to stop.
thanks, guys. Jim, I think you're right. Maybe it's like riding a bike. In the sense that there are uphill and downhill stretches. It's fun to coast on the downhill. I'm doing a little of that this weekend. Seems to be writing itself, for the moment.
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