Last month I decided to start writing my first novel.
It is now this month. My progress could fit in a thimble.
My stated goal was to take two months to write it and then one month to edit it. We aren’t talking great literature here – think of it as the literary equivalent of a TV show rather than a big budget movie.
The problem is, and surprisingly enough I didn’t know that until this morning, that I couldn’t see the progress. When I worked as a project manager I like the short projects. The ones you could mark done at the end of a day, a week, or a month. The problem is, most projects don’t end. Not really – they seem to go on forever dribbling and drabbling on you. And in my case, making me miserable.
Somehow, working on a novel brought all that badness back. Like a black hole of badness it pulled everything else in destroying all of my newly minted good writing habits.
I still need to write it. Don’t get me wrong I am sooo not giving up.
But working on the novel, and the short stories, and the novellas, and the blogs (I know what blogs?), and dating… I didn’t know how to put all of that together.
Not sure I know now… but I know better.
I won’t bore you with the fine details, because it got very strategic the last few days, and I have my life worked out to a level of detail that surprises even me. We’ll see if it works. I still have my monthly, weekly, and daily word counts, but I’ve shifted things around so that I can work at the bookstore and have weekends with the boyfriend without feeling like I’ve trashed my week.
Pattern is good.
I’ve also recommitted to the blogs and scheduled that too. So we’ll see. Nothing like a new plan to get up and moving in the morning.
Wish me luck!