So my plan to write 2,500 words per day is going relatively well. Some days more, some days less. However it appears that I should also set a limit on the number of words I can delete per day as at this rate I am not going to get beyond the length of a haiku poem.
I have been writing every day. Not letting anything distract me. Even the cricket (well, maybe just over lunch...and afternoon tea). I am, however, still trying to work out my routine. I had high hopes that I would be a morning writer like Stephen King - he sits down at 9am and writes until his word count is done, usually around lunch time. Followed by an afternoon of leisure. This sounds like the kind of routine I want to have. Mornings to write, afternoons to swim, meet friends for coffee, read books and generally lounge about like Lady Muck.
Unfortunately mornings don't seem to be agreeing with me. Despite having set myself up a very nice work pad and being surrounded by my favourite things. See, doesn't it look all inspiring?
This is where the magic happens people. Or, er, is supposed to be happening.
I switch on my computer each morning and then I stare at a blank screen for, oh, about an hour. Then I read the opening chapters of a couple of my favourite books to try to jolt my brain into some form of action. I then sit and face the screen again, trying to tell myself not to go back and edit what I wrote yesterday. But after an hour of a whole lot of nothing I find myself just casually glancing back and VOOOOMPF. Before I know it, everything I wrote the day before has been deleted under the glare of the new morning light.
If you want perfectionism, Ken Follett, I've got plenty to go around.
I am going to need to try a new routine, test out which time of the day I am at my most creative. So this morning I am taking a walk up to Oxford Street, buying some caffeine, saying hi to Mum who is volunteering in the lifeline bookshop on Oxford Street (see, my book addiction is genetic), see if I can find any more books from my classics book list, maybe have a look through a couple of shops (and not spend any money. I repeat, not spend any money). Then wander home, watch a few overs of cricket, eat the last of the leftover ham for lunch, and voila! Instant inspiration.
I can only hope. Otherwise I will be trying night time and that is really just going to make me a total social outcast. Writing all night, sleeping all day. A creative shift worker.
I have been writing every day. Not letting anything distract me. Even the cricket (well, maybe just over lunch...and afternoon tea). I am, however, still trying to work out my routine. I had high hopes that I would be a morning writer like Stephen King - he sits down at 9am and writes until his word count is done, usually around lunch time. Followed by an afternoon of leisure. This sounds like the kind of routine I want to have. Mornings to write, afternoons to swim, meet friends for coffee, read books and generally lounge about like Lady Muck.
Unfortunately mornings don't seem to be agreeing with me. Despite having set myself up a very nice work pad and being surrounded by my favourite things. See, doesn't it look all inspiring?
This is where the magic happens people. Or, er, is supposed to be happening.
I switch on my computer each morning and then I stare at a blank screen for, oh, about an hour. Then I read the opening chapters of a couple of my favourite books to try to jolt my brain into some form of action. I then sit and face the screen again, trying to tell myself not to go back and edit what I wrote yesterday. But after an hour of a whole lot of nothing I find myself just casually glancing back and VOOOOMPF. Before I know it, everything I wrote the day before has been deleted under the glare of the new morning light.
If you want perfectionism, Ken Follett, I've got plenty to go around.
I am going to need to try a new routine, test out which time of the day I am at my most creative. So this morning I am taking a walk up to Oxford Street, buying some caffeine, saying hi to Mum who is volunteering in the lifeline bookshop on Oxford Street (see, my book addiction is genetic), see if I can find any more books from my classics book list, maybe have a look through a couple of shops (and not spend any money. I repeat, not spend any money). Then wander home, watch a few overs of cricket, eat the last of the leftover ham for lunch, and voila! Instant inspiration.
I can only hope. Otherwise I will be trying night time and that is really just going to make me a total social outcast. Writing all night, sleeping all day. A creative shift worker.
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