I’m very tired, as you might – or might not – imagine. I woke up this morning and felt it was the perfect morning to be getting up at that sort of time to write, with the sun coming through the trees and the room warm enough to actually want to get out of bed.
But the tragic tale is that I had to go to work and spend time with some very annoying people instead, which is not my idea (or anyone else’s) of a pleasant outing for the day.
The good news is that I managed to read through a few bits from my previously written chapters last night, and although they have bits to work on (they will always, before you start, have bits to work on), the parts that did not need work were everything I hoped I’d managed to achieve when I first set out to start writing. Sometimes it’s nice to have proof that a project taking a long time really is worth it. I mean, I know it is, but no one else seems to, and all the other writers I know are flying past trying to cram their first draft into three months or less and chomping at the bit to ‘get onto the next one’.
I suppose it helps that there really is no ‘next one’ for me. It’s this idea, and that’s it, and that’s the only funnel for my experiences and other stuff to go into. I haven’t managed to find a single topic of interest that won’t fit into it in some way, even if it’s only by a passing remark.
I know exactly what I need to do tonight: I’ve got a night off in-between other commitments (thankfully, neither of them are to do with work), so I’ll make the best use of it at home and potentially go swimming later on tonight. If I want to, that is.
But my tasks for this evening: briefly skim this Chapter 7 and be absolutely sure that you’re happy to move on to the next chapter; move onto the next chapter and start scrawling. I want my brain to run all over the page and basically splurge, because I’ve got a lot going on in my life right now and I always feel like writing is the best filter.
I never end up writing exactly what’s going on, thank goodness, or it would get depressing and dry, but I feel that I know – maybe for the first time, even subconsciously (God-allowing) – exactly where the hell I want to go.