The last month or so marks the least consistent streak of writing since I began this blog, back in New Mexico. It's a disturbing trend, and one I'd rather discontinue; not only have I been inattentive here, I've distanced myself from the novel a bit too much. This means that rather than being almost done with Draft 5 and ready to start emailing publishers in desperation, I'm instead on page 119 of 321, barely a third through and giving my own writing mind a vicious, critical stink eye.
To be fair, I have done some tough work, and the first half is what most needs improving. I've cut down several thousand words and the ones that are already in place flow with much better prose, if not more poetically. Things are happening.
But I know I can do better, and so I'm going to. The new goal is to get to page 140 by the end of the month. That's 21 pages - a horrifically easy pace compared to what I've been doing, but a step up from where I'm at now. I've always found it easier to keep to a goal if I share it with lots of people in front of whom I'll feel foolish if I don't get there or at least try really hard. So here you go, People of the Interwebs: my goal is laid out for the express purpose of your critique (though I know none of you judge me as harshly as I do myself, and really just encourage me when things are difficult).
It's still going to be a challenge, especially with a move in the mix. But the nightmare in the back of my mind is that this is less of a lull and more of a permanent dissolving of my focus, a turn away from this work that I've spent years on and toward something else - either distracting myself with other writings or a fade into a wordless existence where I am no longer a writer, no longer challenging myself daily, no longer distinctly me.
That's a bit hyperbolic, but no less true in sentiment. Which is why I'm going to kick my ass into gear.
(With love, of course.)
|Write. Finish things. Keep writing. - Neil Gaiman|