Editing

I'm working with writing deadlines lately. I'm quite amazed at what a deadline will do. So far, here's what my upcoming deadline has done:

1. Ripped out any sort of inspiration, especially to come up with my own idea or "finish" one of several stories I have started.

2. Forced me to edit. More importantly, forced me to commit my edits.
a. Started the heinous "I hate my writing," cycle.
b. This then led to "Oh, that's not so bad after all" after making edits.
c. Committing the edits has led back to a. It's a vicious cycle. It won't ever end.

3. Forced me to figure out how to end. Ending is hard. Beginning is easy.

Will this all make sense? I certainly hope so. I'm definately working against the clock here. And I can find about a thousand more interesting things to do. Also, I really want to knit. Knitting is productive. And it doesn't involve the computer.

However, I'm going back to my edits now.

Slacking

I've been slacking for about a month now.

Okay, not slacking so much as not writing my 500. It's amazing how many distractions there are, and how often I give in to them. Discipline is hard to come by, and I won't be encountering any tonight. Sleep sounds much more exciting.

We started this 500 as a challenge. I knew it wouldn't be easy, though it sounds like it's not so hard at first. I must say though, I've really got to respect Phil over at Tin Can Goat. He's got a post every day with 500.

Tomorrow. Time to get back at it. 500 words before I go to bed. I can do this.

French Press in the Morning

Ugh. It's been a week since I posted? Apparently I disappeared from here for a while.

Really though, I just get sick of staring at a computer all the time, and need a break on occasion. So, here I am again.

I was reading Wally's blog over here a minute ago, and I thought "I should go write about that." You see, Monday she mentioned that she was going to go set up her coffee pot so she could just press on in the morning.

I miss the days of pressing "on."

Let me explain. My husband and I live in a small house, with a kitchen not much bigger than an apartment's kitchen. (In fact, I remember one apartment I lived in that had a bigger kitchen.) The husband does not like coffee. In fact, unless it is specifically Turkish coffee, he detests it. He'll drink a sip of it, and make a face that I thought only people who had eaten rotten sour grapes make.

Thus I decided early on in our tiny half-butt kitchen adventures I would keep my coffee habit out of the house. It's just easier that way, and frees up quite a lot of counter space. I settled for tea. (Don't get me wrong here, tea is great. But in the morning, I really would rather greet the day with a warm cup of creamy beany goodness.)

Keeping the coffee habit is expensive. And it doesn't allow for Saturday morning coffee that lasts all day. I decided to have coffee at home that was more than three sips of heavy sludge that leaves me with caffiene jitters that last all day long. But I wasn't willing to give up counter space.

You remember me mentioning tea, right? We have a tea kettle to boil water for making tea. This is one of the functions of a coffee pot - making water hot. I figured I could make do with a French Press, boil tea water for the husband, and coffee water for me at the same time. I could make him a pot of tea, and me a pot of coffee, and the world would be a happy place.

Here is where Wally's post comes in. See, she mentioned that she and coordination don't happen in the morning. And I thought, ugh, dealing with coffee filters? I remember doing it years ago, before I realized I really could do that in the evening before going to bed. And, like Wally, it wasn't pretty. The filter got folded, and I could never get decent access to it. There were always coffee grounds I felt compelled to wipe up before running out the door. And let's not mention my neighbor coming over in the morning "Can I have some coffee?" never really got out of her mouth before I was pouring her a mug.

Something happened between now and then though. There's something that I enjoy about the French Press, and the morning ritual using it forces on me. Even if I did put the grounds in the cylinder in the evening, I would still have to do more than press "on". I have to boil water, for one. I also have to get the lid back onto the cylinder after pouring water. I was dumb and bought a press with a lid that has to go on just "so." And the grounds have to sit and get happy in the water - just the right amount of time to finish getting myself ready. And then I have a lovely, creamy cup of coffee to take with me out the door, and spill half of it between the door and my car, and drink half of what's left on the way to where I'm going, and spilling the other half of in my car.

Ahh ritual. What was the point of all that again?

Good Night

Is The 500 killing anyone else? It really shouldn't be quite so hard to write five hundred words a day, every day. And, it's not, assuming that I don't want to do any editing, or cook, or eat, or, well, all those other things that need to happen when the work and socialization day is done.

I wrote mucho today. No fiction, but plenty of well-drafted emails, and a grant, and a Novel Orchard blog, and some other stuff I'm forgetting.

I'm going to assume it was more than five hundred words, and say good night.

Mud

Today I drug my feet through the mud. I kicked and screamed at the thought of writing. I felt like I had nothing left in me to put out there. I suppose I should start from the beginning.

I spent the weekend unable to turn my head, or otherwise move, without wincing in pain. Me, anti-medicine, I-hate-the-doctor, nearly went in to urgent care with the intention of coming home with muscle relaxants in the hope of being able to just sit without pain. It really was terrible.

I should mention, I still did my 500 this weekend. Sadly, I wrote almost all non-fiction. I had things I needed to write this weekend; so I wrote them. While I can't say what they are (yet), I will say that I'm very excited. This, however, brought me to writing no fiction.

Tonight, when I sat down to write, I wanted to work on one of several project that I have going, but I couldn't find anything to say about them.

No worries, I thought, I'll just do a writing exercise. I'll try to make it relevant to something I'm already doing, and it'll be a win-win.

I sat down on my computer, opened up a word-processing document, and held my fingers over the keyboard. "Type!" I demanded them. They didn't respond.

I spent the next ten minutes or so frantically searching my brain and the internet for some sort of inspiration. I found none. Somewhere in the throes of this frustration, a voice came peeping out, with words I often give other writers: you don't have to have anything to write about. Just a person. Or a place. Start there, describe it, and let the rest take care of yourself.

I did this, and it worked. I came out with two new characters, neither of whom I've ever met before. They have life, opinions, and a place to live. They interact in a very specific manner, and they have good reason to do so.

I need to add editing more frequently to my list of "I will do this to be a better writer." What better time to start than now?

Do you ever have a hard time writing - either with coming up with a new idea, or continuing to trudge through a work in progress? What do you do to keep yourself moving forward?

Lazy

I'm feeling lazy. This doesn't bode well, as we're not even through the first week of tax season, and I'm already beat. I have to ask myself, what was I thinking when I signed up to take a couple of classes this semester as well?

Bah, I'll get through it. The first week is always the hardest, right? It's only four months out of the year.

I'm worried though about my 500. I have to admit, I skipped Tuesday. I was tired. Tuesday was a long day at work, and then I had a bunch of stuff to to at home.

What sort of stuff you say? BNO stuff. Fun stuff. Stuff that we'll hopefully announce on Monday. Speaking of which, I need to go send off another email. And done.

Does that bring me to 500 for the day? I'm not entirely certain. Though, I think if not number, I've managed to at least keep with the spirit of the challenge - that is, I sat down, and I spent some time writing, with the objective of putting words on to paper.

Tomorrow I will come home, play chicken, and write. It will work better tomorrow.

Sleep

Word count for the day: 685. Pure fiction.

Consecutive hours spent awake: 32.5

I hope I never do this whole stay awake all day thing again.