This week I managed to put in 280 minutes.  Bafflingly, I have written fewer words.  I cannot account for this.  I imagine that there is something here about the curvature of the planet, or karma.  Maybe the fey took a hand.

Or, y’know, it could be more of that actions-consequences thing I keep hearing about.  Sounds like magic to me, but who can say?

Whatever, I only averaged 1,700 words/hr this week.  Only.  I think speed is not going to be my problem.  Duration, that’s my problem, and frequency.  I get those in line, and I’ll give Catie a run for her money.

I also note here that I seem to creep along when I count words, but I do damned well when I count minutes spent writing — and count the words as an interesting affiliated datum.

I have no idea what I would think of the Fast Draft method if I had the time to put into it daily, but I think the world of what I’ve been doing the past two weeks.  I think I’ll continue.  I may or may not keep posting my writing metrics here; it seems that would get fairly tedious to the casual viewer fairly quickly.

06:35 — Max 25 minutes

05:30 — Ringler’s Annex 35 minutes

Sat upstairs at the Annex this time.  I didn’t feel nearly so picturesque, but I could see where I put my beer.  Sometimes, things balance.

This has been very frustrating.  Nothing catastrophic, but it’s been very difficult to get to the keyboard.  However:

12:10 — Sun room @ Work 30 minutes

Ohgawd, so much better.  My diction was backing up and my imagery was compacted.

Almost.  Got ten minutes in, but today is a wash.

I’ve knocked out nearly 20,000 words in less than two weeks.  I am pleased.  Addtionally, I’ve put about 3,000 of journal posts.  Not bad for a two week stint.  I appear to have broken free the part of my brain that is happy to just sit and yammer, and that assumes that, if I say enough things, I’ll say something worth saying.   Well and, as the poet has said, good.

I’ve also broken free some part of me that is now aching in my hands and wrists.  

Until now the only repetitive stress injury I’ve had was a blister.  This sort of sucks.  It’s not debilitating, and I won’t let it be, but it’s an irritant.  Now I don’t just sit down and type, nor do I stop at having done so, leaping up and proudly announcing that today, again, I am a writer.

No, now I warm up.  Now I stretch out and cool down.  My theory is that, essentially, RSS is an athelete’s pain, and I’m treating it that way.  Warm up the muscles, get the blood flowing and the knots all limbered, use them, then gently bring them back down.  In between times, a bit of strength training to make it harder to get hurt again.

I’m still waiting for the endorphin rush.  Maybe this week.

So now I carry Jarvis around everywhere and carry a rubber ball, as well.  Gentle compressions on the thing beforehand constitute a warm up, and likewise a cool down.  I add some variety and use the supporting muscle groups by manipulating the ball as well as squeezing it.  

What else could that title be intending?  Jeez, you people are odd. 

Okay.  Warmed up.  Off to write.

Day 13 included no writing at all.  There was no good reason for this, but I’m failing to find any guilt I can actually get behind and push.  I think Day 13 is Sunday, and I’ll just presume that sometimes a day will slip away and leave no wrack behind.

Wrackless, then, go I.