I woke this morning irritated at myself because I so rarely write as much as I think I should. In fact, I only write enough to satisfy my inner critic during one month of the year: November. Each blustery November day, I dutifully churn out 1667 words, so as not to disappoint the NaNoWriMo word counters. By the end of each November I have a whopping 50,000 words of a story. If I wrote that much every month I write 600,000 words a year. 600,000 words. More words than are in the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy. Even if I wrote half of that, 25,000 words a month, that would still be the equivalent of two or three average novels. So I decided to write my November quota today. All 1667 words of it.
And I have just finished writing 1683 words. I’m happy to say that Gwyn does not have to worry any more about languishing on an island because I have successfully completed that scene.
Now I’ll just have to see how long I keep up this pace. Am I the only person who can easily hammer 11,669 words a week under the threat of a deadline, but struggles to even write something every day otherwise?
Long days and pleasant nights from the Tale-Weaver.