Scattered

I have written a little more than 6000 words since 15 May.

Six thousand. That’s… not very good. I can usually manage six thousand words a week without really trying. Hell. Usually if I only manage six thousand words in a week, I feel like I’ve been slacking horribly.

Now, my excuses are perfectly valid. I started the new workout routine on the eleventh of May, and I’m still trying to figure out how it fits into my schedule. I photographed a wedding a couple of weeks ago, and I had a lot of prepwork to do for that. And, in between, there was Tasha, and the low-level depression that still hasn’t faded entirely. Writing, as it usually does when I get stressed, has fallen by the wayside.

I’ve got to pick it up again. I still genuinely like the story I’ve been working on. It’s a good sign, since I have a tendency to lose interest in stories when I set them aside for more than a week. I’ve got two amazing ideas that I need to start researching.

I’ve given myself this last week off. I need to rearrange my schedule a bit, and convince myself that the workout doesn’t really interfere all that much. I want to pick up a notebook, so I can start keeping proper records again. I want to take a look at the outline for the story I’ve been working on, to remind myself where I wanted it to go.

Monday, though, I get back to work.