Just to start things off right, here are some pics of my dogs taken a day apart on the same couch. Want to play spot the differences?
This was a long weekend here in Ontario, Canada, and I thought before it started I would get so much writing done. However, I made the STUPID mistake of waiting for inspiration to hit in order to get the writing done. I have been doing that a lot lately, and guess how much writing has actually gotten done?
0 multiplied by 0 is still 0.
It’s just I had such a wonderful writing time a few weekends ago. I woke from a dream and needed to capture the plot, so spent a day working on it, and suddenly woosh, 10K words. And then after that all I wanted to do was write, except I didn’t have the time to sink into that zen feeling of writing again, for a 10 hour day because I had a day job, and was stuff to do in the evening, and so sadly that motivation dripped away.
BUT I wanted it back. I thought this weekend would bring it back. It didn’t. Because I didn’t show up to the page. That was the lesson that I had been trying to teach myself in early January. 500 word per day weather you feel it or not, and eventually that writing faucet will be turned on all the time. 500 is an easy goal to show up for. Heck somedays I can sneeze out 500 without even thinking about it.
Except I’m caught up in the plotting of the book. I really want to have a sturdy roadmap built before I start writing the book. So that too felt like another obstacle to hurdle. Was plotting really writing. It certainly didn’t feel like it. It felt more like playing with tools, then it did being mad and crazy and creative.
There is this place I go to when I have a really great writing day. It’s like time stops. I am one with the writing, and writing it one with me. It’s totally the force I swear. But getting in that place takes time and effort. Dogs are distracting and bark at things, and need to be let in and out, because that is what they need, and all I want to do is ignore every click of there claws, and sink into this feeling, and not come up for anything. I want to go deep down into the caves of writing. Into the fairyland of writing. I want to live there forever. Except I can’t. I have to come back up to the real world for air, and that is what kills me. That is what slaughters the writing buzz.
It’s like wanting to read before bed. I really do want to do it and synch into that book, but you know, I also need sleep to be a functioning person, and maybe instead falling into that zen, I’ll just go to bed, because that way, I’ll at least be well rested. I keep choosing things other than the thing I want to be doing, because the thing I want to be doing, takes a lot of time, to reach that perfectly zen state.
Anywho, I’m going to try and make 500 words each day this week. I’m going turn on the tap, and see if I can get a full stream going. And yes, even though plotting feels more mechanical it still counts as writing.