I wish I could say I’m really cranking on my novel now. I’m not. But I am making progress. I’ve reached 15,000 words, but more importantly I’m wanting to write. It’s been a struggle the past few months to get my butt in the chair and my hands on the keyboard. But now my writing instincts have awakened or something, and I find myself thinking about what comes next again.
This is important. A few weeks ago I nearly talked myself into giving up. Not just the novel, but writing in general. There are so many other things I could do with my time. Is writing really that important to me? Is it worth giving up my lunch hours for?
The answer is still yes.
As for the novel, I’m finally starting to feel like it’s going somewhere. That’s odd, considering this one has been mapped out in more detail than anything I’ve ever done before. It should have been going somewhere all along. Perhaps I planned too much. Of course that was the objective this time; to see if I could over-plan so I can start finding that “sweet spot” between impromptu writing and mapping everything out. The jury is still out.
It feels good to be making regular progress again. One less thing to feel guilty about.