I think about the implications. Of diving in too deep. And possibly the complications.
OK, sorry, I realize those lyrics are a bit overkill. *rimshot*
So, tonight is a bit strange. It will look like I missed a day, when in fact, it is nearly 2 a.m. and I just finished up the writing.
Yesterday’s break in the schedule did have repercussions. The gym in the morning? Didn’t happen. I had dinner plans with friends after work, so going after work tanked, too.
But worst of all was that when I got home at about 7:30, which is typically a good time for me to still start writing for the night (2.5 hours yet before my old bedtime), I was just in NO mood to do it. Instead, my feeling basically consisted of one thought: I am so tired.
Of course, that was understandable given that even though I didn’t go to the gym when my alarm ticked off at 6 a.m., I didn’t return to sleep. I did that half-procrastination, the bath that wakes you up a bit into the resignation that you are in no mood to work out, followed by the concession that you can waste additional time, skip the weight training, and just do cardio, buying you an hour, followed by giving up on the whole thing eventually.
So, when I got home this evening, I was wiped. And, my thought was clear. Screw the writing, I’ll just go to bed. I toss the TV on to kill time, at about 9, planning to go to bed at 10, watch some horrible reality show on my one ghosted channel that barely comes in… and I fall asleep.
I wake up at about 11:30, and my reaction is typical. I should move from the couch in this room to the bed in that room.
Thankfully, something intervened, and I had a thought: I didn’t write earlier tonight because I was tired. I just had a nap, so shouldn’t that make me rested now?
And so it goes… I just sat down and banged out five pages in the last two hours. It was a little slower output than I would have liked. But, tonight, I was writing the chapter where the name of the premise of the book is revealed for the first time, so there wasn’t a clear writing plan tonight, only that I knew what I intended to write.
This is yet another example of something that barely existed as a fleeting thought in the previous draft of the book. Do I ever mention anything I like from that draft? Seems I just diss it more than anything.
So, was more creation tonight than trying to improve on something, and that always goes slower.
Then again, it’s stll in keeping with my goals. I mean, I know people who delight in a page a day. I’m more in the James Frey mentality, even though I haven’t read his new addiction memoir. In that Salon interview, they share the note he keeps posted to his iMac: “A page a day. Anything less is unacceptable you punk-ass-bitch-motherfucker. Anything less is unacceptable.”"
I’d like to say I go easier on myself. But why keep a diary if you intend to lie?