My next day off is six long working days away, otherwise known as next Wednesday. I did my best to pack all the things–all of them–into today. As usual, I failed. I still haven’t found a way to turn a day off into a bag of holding.
But I got some laundry done, errands run, some email answered, some reading done, and oh yeah–I wrote. Another 1k added to book 3.
My brain is all about the layers and nuance these days. But does it add those layers in the first pass through a chapter? Hell no. That would be too easy, especially in the first 10-15K of a novel. I have to go back through, hopefully when I’m awake, and make the words say what I meant them to say in the first place.
I’m just under 10K now, so with luck writing this book will get easier soon.
Yes, I’m dreaming. Humor me.
In other news, I applied for and interviewed for a promotion at work. Knowing how this process works, I’m not holding my breath, but you can’t win if you don’t play. And I’m really into dreaming this week.
I have days, lots of days actually, where I wonder when I’ll magically become a real true writer. I dream about that too. Real true writers go to conferences, teach workshops, do interviews and podcasts, guest blogs and all the interesting stuff I see authors doing every single day. People read their books, know their characters names and care about their fate. None of those things describe me.
I’m working on the third book of a contracted trilogy and my life hasn’t changed. At all. I still go to a difficult and physically draining dayjob every single day. I still struggle to fit the second full time job, the writing, into the part time hours left to me. I still don’t get enough sleep, I’m still on the outside looking in.
And there’s still nothing I’d rather do with my life. Nothing.
Not all dreams are easy, even when “someday” has a publication date. This is the wisdom blogging at 1:36 am brings.
Do what you will with it. I’m going to bed.