After my slightly disappointing weekend, where my 5,000 word target fell 2,000 words short, and what I did have seemed to be screaming out for a good few whacks with the editing stick, I did what I’m sure all good writers do (ahem! Maybe?): I bitched and moaned about it. For AGES.
Thankfully, the pungent friend-in-need aroma I was emitting did not go unsmelled, and Luke – a friend of mine who is a lot closer to a novel than I am – slapped some sense into me:
My problem is I’m leaving writing to my days off i.e the weekend, and hoping I can somehow wring 5,000 words out of myself in 48 hours. Obviously, that’s a bit like expecting to be able to run a marathon when you haven’t been training: if you try and jump straight into it, you get tired very quickly. You’d need time to warm up. Instead, you should train all week as well, so your body is used to running.
I need to try and write every day – to keep my brain ticking, and make sure that when I do get slightly longer to write, I am all limbered up and ready to rock. Plus, that way my weekly word-count target of 5,000 will have a lovely chunk taken off it by the time it gets to the days when I do have that extra time. Even a couple of hundred words a day can make the difference.
So, with that in mind, I’ve been attempting to write this evening. I did a ridiculously pitiful 200 words, before spending an hour sitting there, sighing, twirling my hair and wondering where the hell all the thoughts in my head went. I am really struggling to focus on a strong plot, and so I don’t quite know where to start at times. I’m hoping this will improve once I get used to squeezing a few hundred words into the odd spare hour of my day.
But I tried. You get points for trying to write a novel, right?
Image taken from lululemon athletica‘s photostream.