20,231 words last week.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that as soon as you commit to doing something, the universe throws up roadblocks, dangles shiny distractions and does everything in its power to derail you and prove that you didn’t really mean it.
This has been me, for the last week.
I have to get this book finished. The hard, cannot-step-over-it deadline is coming up fast, and the longer I take to get it written, the less vacation time I get, afterwards.
But I’m having the worst time in the world actually writing the effing thing.
A dozen big and small things got in the way of writing last week. But if I had been more in practice at getting words down, perhaps they wouldn’t have been the roadblocks they ended up being.
Your writing muscle atrophies so damn fast.
I’m not even going to predict what the coming week might be like. I have some serious wordage to produce and that’s my only focus.
Let’s see what happens.