Today's Novel Writing Stats
Thursday, November 20, 2008
- Word Count: 2035
- Total Written: 44098
- Total Remaining: 5902
- Avg. Words Per Day: 2205
- Time (minutes): 80
- Avg. Time (minutes): 62
Notes & Observations
Tonight was a grueling evening of stalling, false starts, disjointed dead-end ideas, and internal resistance. I wanted to dink around on Facebook. I wanted to constantly check the wood stove. I wanted to look up TV shows on IMDB. I wanted to, well, do anything but writing.
Jodie called me a few minutes after I was all but banging my head on the desk, trying to tough out a couple of hundred words. I explained how slow the night was going, the way my brain felt like treacle. "Give yourself a set time, then," she said. "Write until, say, 8:30, and then just call it good."
People love to talk up the artist and solitude. Nonsense. If you truly want to endure in anything creative, you need a good partner.
So I took Jodie's advice (and made coffee). Twenty minutes later, even though everything was disjointed and I was just doing up wee vignettes and jumping to something else, at least there were words coming out. Then I got my second cup, and mixed in a healthy dram of Drambuie. I thought more about what Jodie had said.
Things got easier. I was approaching 800 words, and it seemed a shame to stop there, when I was so close to 1,000. So I kept going. And if I could hit 1,000, well hell, surely I could struggle on to the bare minimum of 1,667? Well, okay… well, look, if I can get that, well, I've tried to hit 2,000 words each night, surely I could give that a go?
And suddenly, I was there – 2035 words. It wasn't easy. But I did finally hit a groove, and suddenly the time and the words flew. Or, in other words, I stopped giving a damn, got myself out of the way, and just wrote.
The home stretch is in sight. It's possible that I'll cross 50,000 words by Sunday night. If I can get through a night like tonight, then that's definitely doable.
A cool breeze blew in from the fields around the cabin, and they smelled of wood smoke, leaves, and roasting meat.
J— felt a tear in the corner of his eye.
The real thing – more real than his dreams and memories, and at last, possible.
He turned and looked back at her.
“But… it’s been so long.”
“Has it really?”
“It doesn’t have to be, if you don’t want it to be.”
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