This boring old life

Just about twelve hours ago, I started writing a post at around 5am. As I figured, I fell asleep shortly after and woke up at around 10am. I made breakfast. Procrastinated a little bit. Drank coffee. Caught up with a few folks. And by the afternoon, I put on my playlists and started writing again. Today–so far–I have written a scene. Which might even be a chapter. About 3500 words.

To the uninitiated, my word counts often show up here. They really don’t mean much other than they can guage how long I kept my butt in the chair to work on the book. It’s mostly for me to judge how much progress I’ve been making. Once I hit the editing process, I’ll probably regret high word counts and just say, “Why didn’t you use fewer words better?” Mostly it’s a matter of throwing whatever I’ve got in my brain against the wall and seeing what sticks.

So, I wrote 3500 words and what am I doing for a break? Writing this post.

To some, you might think that is all I talk about. Writing. I must sound like the most boring person alive. I’m laughing with you on that. There are definitely days I feel like that, but even as boring as it must sometimes sound, there is nothing quite like the feeling of a scene coming together just right. The words flowing. The themes and plot and characters and images all swirling together into something that makes me smile and feel good about.

As much as I would love to be Indiana Jones on occasion, it can’t always be days of high adventure. It can’t always be road trips and new foods or hanging out with friends. Honestly, that stuff kinda wears me out sometimes. Lately, the more I write, the easier it is to write. And the more I want to write, even on days like today when I really, REALLY just wanted to take the dog and brave the icy roads to get coffee and check out record shops or go people watching.

I guess what I’m saying is I am embracing this whole writerly thing. I’m looking at just putting the words down and doing the work today instead of any fanciful ideas of fame and fortune. Today, the work has been its own reward.

Does that mean that sometimes I hear football scores from friends, or watch the adventures of people from afar through social media? Absolutely. And then I make another coffee and eat a snack and dive right back into it. Because in the back of my mind is also a day that hopefully I can be good enough at this to be successful and fill up my social media feed with stuff that isn’t just talking about word counts. Because that does sound boring.

Just so you all know, my title is totally sarcastic. On a good day of writing (which a bad day of writing is still better than a good day of working) the words I get down are even better than reading a book. And some of us love our books. A good day of writing is like that moment when you put your bookmark in its place and you close the cover and you have to think about what you just read, and you want to read more. So you do.

The drawback is knowing how much further you need to go. And the rewrites. I just keep plugging away, and chiseling at it a little more each day. There is that threat of wondering if I might not reach an end because I’ve been enjoying writing it so much!

2 thoughts on “This boring old life

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