So, yesterday I posted about my decision to try and bust out 10,000 words a day. No distractions, no excuses, no procrastination.
It started great. I had already outlined the novella I’m working through. I had detailed the characters a few weeks ago, I had already done up an outline, and scrivener was open, waiting for me. All I had to feed it were words. A little over 1k in, halfway through the first chapter, I get stuck.
A little over 1k in, halfway through the first chapter, it starts.
There it was again, staring at me from over my laptop screen, that nasty black demon feeding me that same poison it always loves to inject into my veins.
You aren’t good enough.
You’re a terrible writer.
This story is already awful and it’s just going to get more awful.
Stop wasting your time.
I looked down at my fingers, poised over the keyboard, and I felt like I couldn’t move. They were so heavy, suddenly rusted metal instead of flexible flesh. Those words that had been flowing so well, rushing out of me in a flurry of typing, were suddenly gone.
I got up and stepped outside to smoke. Came back. Still nothing. I paced. I walked, I tried to get my mind off of that always there fear that no matter what I accomplish, I’m still a failure and it’s still not enough. I’m not enough.
I went for a drive. I don’t know what it is about the road and an open window, but it is calming, freeing even. I was gone for maybe a half hour and when I came back I wrote some more. I ended the night with nearly 4k.
I don’t know what it is about the road and an open window, but it is calming, freeing even. I was gone for maybe a half hour and when I came back I wrote some more. I ended the night with nearly 4k.
It wasn’t the goal I had set, but the important thing is I didn’t stop. I basically told that demon to piss off.
Shut up! I’m trying to write!
That’s putting it lightly. It was a fight, a laborious struggle, and I came out battered and bruised at the hands of, well, myself, but I kept going. I’m not going to stop myself. Not now.