Yesterday (Sunday), I posted that I was going to finish my novel in 4 days. I knew from the get-go that it was a totally insane idea, but I didn’t realize how troubling it would actually be to try and pull off. Shortly after I posted that, I had to go help show a couple of apartments, and when I got back, I promptly slept for 4 hours. I woke up, wrote a little, then slept for 2 more hours. I woke up, wrote some more, walked about 5 miles, had lunch, then slept for 7 hours. It wasn’t inherent laziness — though I am inherently lazy — it was that every time I sat down to write, I looked at the task ahead of me and became exhausted at simply the thought.
Writing quickly became a dreaded thing, and even though I managed 2,000 words a day, I felt as if I wasn’t getting anywhere — which is ridiculous, because I almost never manage 2,000 words a day! I also felt that my writing was suffering for it. I was sucking every word out of every sentence that I possibly could (and that means adding words, if that wasn’t clear). I was driving for word count, not quality.
It was a fun exercise, and got me from 8,000 words to 12,000 (which is a 50% increase, for those who suck at math). If I can keep up 2,000 words a day, I’ll finish in two weeks, and that ain’t half bad. Maybe someday I’ll be to the point where I can write 8,000 words a day and have them all be excellence personified, but for now I’d rather write slowly and write well and appreciate the achievement of writing 2k/day, instead of seeing that as only 1/4 of a day’s work and becoming depressed about it.