Yesterday was an epic fail of a writing day, the biggest failure in recent memory. I suppose I could lie and say I was too busy with Easter festivities, but the truth is that I didn’t do anything special and in fact had the same amount of time for writing that I always do on Sundays.
I managed to write a single sentence during the day. Actually, I wrote two versions of the same sentence. (Because someone asked, that sentence was: “Mila thought the man deserved a beating for displaying such insolence in front of the sovereign.”) Then, around 9:00 pm, I buckled down to put 2,000 words on the page before bed no matter what … and got through about 100 words before giving up for the night.
This is becoming a worrisome problem (the inability to write on weekends). Suppose I were a full-time writer. Every day would essentially be a weekend. Then I’d be totally screwed. I need to figure this out.
It’s also worrisome that I haven’t been much “into” this Tel book for the past few days. Supposedly that means I need to go back and find the “spark” that made this project interesting to me in the first place. Or I just need to quit getting distracted. Or something.
