Since last Tuesday, I’ve written 10,403 words, not counting anything related to my day job, “social life” or family-related shenanigans. This breaks down to 1,115ish words a day which is pretty comfortable for me, and certainly higher than the 835 minimum (I had one day at 720, but the rest tracked above that) I’ve imposed on myself until mid-February.
Madness. Method to It. Always. Yes, this I have.
As with all things, mileage may wind up varying before mid-February. I’ve thrown a business law course (in addition to the math one I’m taking) on my plate for the winter semester, so yeah, it’ll likely vary.
Those words that I started talking about. Them.
Less than half of them are related to the project I want to be working on. None of the easy words are. Those are tied to aggressive mental tangents1, my hack-hack-hacking away so virtuously then thinking ‘oh, hey, I should pause and write this new idea/idea related to the new idea I had yesterday down before I lose it, because even though it won’t work for this project, but it might work for something else and…’ BLAM! BEDTIME!
Not that this is a new problem.
Not that I haven’t already figured out how to work around this problem: my difficulty in dealing with it chiefly lies in my habitual failure in continuing to take the metaphorical medicine after the initial symptoms clear up.
So, once more with the kitchen timer, dear friends. It’ll help. It always does. Just have to keep using it.
1 a.k.a. Penguinations.