Recently in writing Category

I have found the flaw in my plan to hold myself publicly accountable in my writing.

In July, I wrote 11,500 words. In August, I’ve written 18,100. I’ve averaged about one hour per thousand words. Not record-setting, perhaps, but I’m seeing real progress in the current story, and I can actually imagine finishing it on time.

Thing is, I’m not terribly picky when it comes to reading books in an electronic format. I’ll read pretty much anything I’m even vaguely interested in, or that’s been recommended by someone whose opinion I sort of trust. And I’m stubborn.

NaNoWriMo and Script Frenzy aside, I don’t have deadlines, except for the ones I impose on myself, and I find it really easy to let those ones slide.

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

For the first time since I started this project I’ve made it a full 100 days without skipping a single one. And I haven’t miscounted this time. Not much of an achievement, I’ll grant you. But I’m only 100 days from the half-way point in this little project, and, given the way things have been going lately, I’ll take what I can get.

Half-way through May, and a couple of weeks into my first post-Script Frenzy writing project. Surprise, surprise: it’s going well.

I’m done. One hundred and one pages, with a full day to spare. And the script has an actual, mostly-logical ending.

I wrote page 82 of my script today. That leaves me with only eighteen pages left to write by the end of the month.

What on earth possessed me to try my hand at horror?

It isn’t a genre I watch or read very much. Not recently, anyway—I read a lot of it when I was in junior high, but nothing much since then. It certainly isn’t something I’m comfortable writing. I don’t know how to do it.

Today was one of those days—one of those days when it takes a completely unreasonable amount of effort to sit down and start writing.

When I’m looking at the pages I’ve just written, and I think ‘I should really save this before I go any further…’

Script Frenzy starts tomorrow.

I’m not even a little bit ready.

I’ve been having a terrible time recently, trying to talk myself into writing.

I think I’m finally settling into a writing routine that works for me.

This is probably the first week all year when I’ve been able to sit down and write every day, without something popping up at the last minute to screw up my schedule. I decided to celebrate by not actually writing anything today.

Just so you know, I didn’t intend to let the silence go on so long again. I had an entry written, all ready to go, about how I was finally getting myself back into the habit of writing daily. I wasn’t up to anything like a respectable output yet, but I was writing again, and I was really pleased with how my current story was progressing. And I was all ready to post it.

Two weeks ago.

I’ve finished the NaNo story.

And, miracle of miracles, I actually like it.

It feels really strange to not spend every waking moment worrying about writing.

Wow. I actually made it.

It’s been easier to sit down and write this week. I’ve barely had to spend any time at all talking myself into it—probably because I know that today is the last opportunity I have to write until next Tuesday, and I absolutely refuse to not finish NaNo this year.

This particular NaNo attempt has been more difficult than the previous times I’ve tried it. Not getting the words down—that’s going reasonably well, actually—but it seems like, whenever I’m not actually writing, all I can think about is how far behind I am, and how I have absolutely no idea what comes next in the story.

I’m not giving up this time. Every single day, I am convinced that it’s just not going to happen—I’m not going to meet my day’s targets, and I’m not going to hit 50,000 words by the 30th. Every single day, I sit down to write anyway and surprise myself by getting the words down without too much difficulty.

I probably should have tried harder over the last few weeks to get back into the habit of writing daily. But the inspiration just wasn’t there, and I kept telling myself that once November finally rolled around, I’d be fine.

What sort of injury trips up a writer?