I feel like I’ve walked into a room that hasn’t been used in years. Cobwebs stretch and pull apart as I open the laptop. My fingers leave trails in the dust on the track pad. So I’m being a little melodramatic. Sue me.
As I previously said, in more than one post, it’s been a while since I’ve written anything substantial. I don’t just mean here, either. I have started a new novel, but in the last year it hasn’t gone past chapter four. I would like to blame it on the lack of time. Although anyone who writes seriously knows that’s a load of crap. I have time, but I look for other things to occupy that time. Maybe a new show on television, a new book to read, some chores to do around the house.
That’s when I realized I had a problem. What was so bad about my writing that I would willingly look for chores to do? The answer should be no. Then why wasn’t I getting any writing done?
Plain and simple. I was afraid I couldn’t do it again. I finished my first novel, and even though I know it was nowhere close to being exposed to day light, I couldn’t have been prouder of myself. What if it was a one-time fluke? What if I couldn’t even make the second attempt as good as the substandard first attempt? Then I would have to face the reality that I would have to work the rest of my life in a job that I never wanted in the first place. I would start playing the lottery in hopes of another way out of this droll existence.
Then I read a friend’s blog. He set a goal of writing 2,000 words a day. Go ahead and check out his blog to see how he’s doing. In any case, it reminded me of what i had done for myself in the very beginning. A word count goal. I’ll admit that I don’t think I can set such a lofty goal for myself as 2,000 words a day. At least not at the moment. But a goal I shall set.
I need to keep it real, keep it simple, but not to undermine my actual ability. On one hand, anything less than a hundred words is pointless. I write as much if not more in just the number of email I need to make during the day. On the flip-side, I don’t want to binge write either. Forcing thousands upon thousands of words out as required by some month long writing foray that shall remain nameless.
I suck at secrets. I won’t knock it completely, but throwing that much wordage out in such a small amount of time doesn’t sound like jump starting the muse so much as waiting for its heart to explode from the over-use. I’m sure you would be left with writer’s fatigue (if such a thing exists) for the next eleven months. Coincidentally enough, just in time for the writing binge.
So where was I? Oh, yes. Word count goals. I’m going o stick with the goal I first gave myself years ago in the midst of Raven’s Mark.
It’s enough to keep me in my seat for a time, without feeling hopeless in reaching my goal. If I go over a bit. Cool for me. Eventually I will need to increase that number. Especially when I notice that I can do more without risking of shooting too high. If I do that, the guilt could set in. I think I went into that enough in my last blog.
So for today, including this blog because, hey, it’s writing. Today I reach over 600 words. It’s no King, Carver, or Card, but then again, I’m going for Green.
Thank you Mr. Greenwald for helping get back on track, to all who have commented or will comment, and The Bakery for the use of their lobby (damn their cookies are good).
Ramble on and keep writing.