This is almost like work
After a good morning in the study, I have completed a scene. About 4-1/2 pages. Under ordinary circumstances I would pronounce that a good day’s fiction work, have some lunch, and go downstairs to the office, where myriad incomplete tasks await. But I haven’t made my page goal.
Discipline in the area of my own fiction output is something I haven’t expected since–well, since I started Mercury Retrograde, I suspect. Writing has mostly been a guilty pleasure of late. I must reaccustom myself to expectations of productivity. I must have some lunch and come back to the study, and stare at myself until I write another scene.
The good news: I have gotten past the “maybe I’ve entirely forgotten how to write, and now suck horribly” fear that always comes up when I haven’t been writing for a while. I know what I wrote this morning is good. Now I (mostly) only doubt my ability to attain the level of productivity I’ll need to make my date.
Mostly. I still acknowledge the possibility that No One Else Will Love It. But that’s a thing every writer must live with. It is one of the top two reasons so many writers drink so much.
The other, of course, is fear of abject suckage. But coping with that, and writing sentences anyway, is one of the most important things that separates pros from amateurs.
Today, I am a pro. I’ll be back after lunch.
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