I was grumpy last night. Well, this morning, technically, but I was still on the stretch of consciousness that started Sunday morning, so I call it the same day.
I was irritated because I can count, and even when pushing along Fast Draft guidelines, I only racked up 6 hours (well, 359 minutes) of writing in (on the average) 22 minute bursts, and only 12,500 words. Demoralizing. No huge chunks of time spent. No half-the-novel-done.
Just now, in tallying how many hours I’d actually done, I reflexively did what I said I wouldn’t, and looked at production rates.
This last week I wrote 2,089 words per hour for six hours.
Okay, I’m still somewhat bristly over the “only six hours” bit, and would like to see that quadrupled or at least … doubled, if we’re being realistic … but the 2k per hour is making me feel fairly perky. It isn’t a “I can write soooo fast” thing. It’s a realization that, at that rate, even if I only manage ten hours a week, that’s a novel draft in a month. The rate at which I seem happy writing is permitting me more options than I recognized.
I can probably continue at this pace. I don’t feel burned out. In fact, I am enjoying the writing much more since I’ve been doing it more frequently. Perhaps I should explore the concept of writing in many short bursts instead of looking for hours that I can devote to the process.
It’s a thought, anyway.
Okay, break’s over. Back on my head.
EDIT On the other hand, if I am comfortable, am happy with the progress, and enjoy the process at however-often-I-can a week, whether that is 6 hours or 60, perhaps I should stick to that instead of aiming for a strict this-many-hours-a-week … which is really, probably, this-many-arbitrary-and-ego-based-hours-a-week.
Crossposted from Epinephrine & Sophistry