Not a happy writing day today. Not a happy day period, actually. Not quite sure why. I got enough sleep. I got up on time. I did my usual morning thing of writing and exercising. I even ate a nutritious breakfast. All of those things should have me coasting on perky endorphins. Instead I am irritable and tense. It is exercise in self control not to snap at everyone who crosses my path. To reduce the risk of homicide, I sequestered myself at a remote café with my laptop and a sequence of very large mocha lattés. I felt like crying for no particular reason. I made it through the day by just focusing on my To Do list one item at a time and ignoring all incoming calls.
The chicks out there will recognize the above description as classic PMS. The fact that I can accomplish this without a uterus is a medical miracle. Somebody notify Lancet.
My foul mood did lead to a realization about the novel, though, which is that I am not really writing anymore... or at least I am not creating anything. There is an issue of diminishing returns when plotting and researching, and I can touch the asymptote from where I am standing. Furthermore, not only is the planning unfinished, but it is also un-fun. I don't mind working hard. Hell, I love working hard. Whatever it is that I'm doing, I'm not loving it, and if I'm not loving it, then it's not working.
So, you know what? Fuck it. Fuck Snowflake Methods and character charts and timelines. Fuck scene outlines and story arcs. Fuck it all. I’m just going to start rewriting the damn novel. I didn't know what I was doing when I wrote the first draft. How much worse can writing the second draft be?
Tomorrow begins today.
Today's writing totals:
Plot: 273 words
Journal: 325 words
Blog: 309 words
DAILY TOTAL: 907 words
JANUARY RUNNING TOTAL: 9,838/15,500 words
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