Words on Ether

Doesn’t matter what you write, as long as you write; doesn’t matter how well you write, as long as you write.

All is moderately well; I am employed, I am not in jail, I am getting a few things done around the house, I am writing, slowly, but writing.

Writing. I haven’t bitched about writing for weeks. Here: I am, on days that I write, writing a page in the morning, two at lunch, one or two in the evenings. The past couple of weeks I write 1/2 a page, one or two at lunch, and nothing at night. I expect that, if this continues, I will taper away to not writing again, become fussy, have fits, and begin writing again.

Boring. Dulldulldull. So been there, so done that, and who would want the ugly t-shirt? My energy is low, but I don’t think this is much of an excuse. Writing poetry or making love is something that takes a “mood”, but writing a novel is mostly craft and endurance – in my vast experience.

What to do…it’s tempting to invest in energy drinks. I find they do elevate my mood, sometimes to the point that I’m wired and grumpy, but they do spur my productivity. It’d be better to find what’s lowering my energy levels and fix it, but I’m far past being patient enough to wait for myself to catch up with things. Gut it out, is my instinct here, somehow bootstrap myself up to a level that works and get things done.

So, hrm. I’ll tidy my table at home tonight – it’s disappearing under the wife&son drifts – and set my morning write up the night before; heatpad and teacup, clothes laid out, lunch made already. Each night, beginning tonight, I will walk through the door at home, open my bag, and lay out my notebook and One True Pen, ready to be used before bed. And, this afternoon, I’ll take my ten minute break and write, even if only a sentence or two.

I’ll immerse myself in the writing, get it so permeated through my day that I think of it every time I draw breath. That’s what I’ll do. If my energy levels drop to the ground, I’ll take ten minute naps a couple times a day.

Bootstrap check. It’s just like running miles; when you slow and stagger, you decide to move on, and then you do it. I can do this. I have before.

I’ve paid for Writer’s Weekend. I want to be ready to pitch my second book when I get there.

Crossposted from Epinepherine & Sophistry