I woke up early, and didn't allow myself to go back to sleep. I sat in my chair, editing the now month-overdue "August To August" episode of the Outcast, and when my morning alarm went off, I went over and grabbed a semi-stale donut, and scarfed it down, effectively canceling out the 250 sit-ups I did last night while watching the movie.
Today, I plan to sit in the sun and read my book, narrate a story from a book of old ghost tales I got from the library, and write the big love scene I started yesterday. I'm no good at love scenes. I'm so bad, it makes me think I'm no good at anything.
I never know how in-depth to go, whether to describe the kissing and leave the rest to the imagination, or to detail full penetration, since that can be effective too. The sweet spot is probably somewhere in between, but I struggle with it.
And as soon as I finish that unpleasant detail (I really need to lay back and think of England, don't I?), I can write the climax of the story, and then . . . I'm pretty much done. It could all be finished today.
Except it won't be. Once I finish this book, I'll try my best to stop writing completely, so I can move on to publishing. And that will be hard, after more than five hundred days in a row.
Just because I'm stopping the daily thing doesn't mean I won't still write, it just means I won't tally up the words, and it won't be a joyless chore every one out of three days. Oh, I guess I won't have to blog about it either, but I'll probably come back here when I've got something to say, every couple of weeks or so. For sure, that'll free up some time for me every day, and that should be interesting.
Sit-ups Today: 111
Sit-ups In September: 361
I started editing an audio Dead & Breakfast story in the morning (mostly so I could clear up space on my recorder, which is always between 80 and 95% fill), and then I wrote a bit on my book in the afternoon . . . and you know what? I called Lara "Natalie" in two different paragraphs.
Writing's weird.
Early in the afternoon, I went into the bedroom (I never sleep in there--the bed absolutely kills my back) and tried to record a story from the new library book.
But I couldn't. The print was just too small. It was the size of a paperback, but the print was like that of one of those miniature Bibles you give to servicemen in the off-chance they stop an errant bullet. I tried reading a story, but it wasn't worth it, so I laid back and fell asleep.
Push-ups Today: 216
Push-ups In September: 271
It wasn't particularly cold at the cabin this trip, though I did leave the windows closed, and kept a blanket around me when I went outside or ran from one end of the dam to the other (this is a custom for me--a ritual maybe--and I'm never not surprised how hard it is to catch my breath at this high elevation, usually making it about a block before my body goes, "No, dude, hit the brakes--something's wrong."). It rained lightly during the night, but it was mostly pleasant.
However, I looked out the window while trying to wash a pot (I had accidentally bought the non-instant kind of rice, and ended up overcooking it, trying to get the grains to soften up), I discovered that two of the trees were changing their leaves already. It really broke my heart.
Words Today: 386
Words In September: 1054
1 comment:
"Just because I'm stopping the daily thing doesn't mean I won't still write, it just means I won't tally up the words, and it won't be a joyless chore every one out of three days. Oh, I guess I won't have to blog about it either, but I'll probably come back here when I've got something to say, every couple of weeks or so. For sure, that'll free up some time for me every day, and that should be interesting."
That is a very rosy look at how things will turn out when you stop writing. I wish I never had. Ending my writing after I hit 300,000 words was a horrible mistake for me. This past year since I quit...almost exactly a year now, was a completely wasted and lost year. I had time freed up, but I didn't use it in any way that I might call worthwhile.
Letting one thing go made letting other things go all the easier. It's been a purposeless, shitty year that I wish I never lived through. I don't know if I can blame it all on dropping the writing habit, there's a shit ton of other things that have sucked since last September, so it doesn't necessarily follow that giving up on daily writing is the cause, but I kind of think it is.
It was kind of a cascading effect, if you ask me. I stopped the one thing, then the next thing stopped, then the next. Now I'm a worthless husk of what I was last year. Twice as fat, horribly unhealthy, constantly depressed, and doing almost nothing productive (that I'm not nagged into by my wife).
You can do what you want, and I don't really know what your situation is, so my advice could be totally contrary to what is best, but I am still going to suggest that you don't give it up. Even if all you do is write 100 words each day, keep it up. Or maybe set a different daily goal that involves publishing. I don't know. All I can say is that for some reason your intent to quit the daily writing goal that you carried 200 days further than I did fills me with sorrow and maybe even foreboding.
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