I didn’t write yesterday (Monday). Partly because I was stupid (I really shouldn’t turn on the work beast until I’m really ready to start working. I don’t care if I’m planning on ‘just checking email’ and ‘plan on taking a break and writing after that’ because I never will.) Partly it was through choice — I hadn’t seen the ever lovely schnaucl in far too long so we went out to dinner and hung out and watched The Closer together.
Today I did a double-dose of writing. I got up early and walked up the the tea shop, let them fix me breakfast (yogurt and granola) and gave myself 30 minutes to write. It really was all the time I had — then I had to start the day job again. But I managed about 4 pages of long hand — I figure, if I’m keeping the same ratios as last time, that that’s about 700 words.
But tonight — tonight was the Tuesday Tea Thing. I went and had a marvelous salad and iced tea and wrote some more. I’m not sure how long it took — more than an hour. I stopped when my brain said, “Ugh. No more. Well dry.” It was almost exactly 5 1/2 pages, which, again, if I’m keeping to the same ratios, means another 1000 words.
I don’t believe I’ll have time to write tomorrow (Wednesday). Doctor appointment in the AM, chiropractic, yoga, co-op board meeting in the PM, and way too much work for the day job. However, I will not be denied. I *will* write Thursday morning, damn it. Come hell or high water.
And this is one of the reasons why I know I’m a writer. I make time and I get up early and I rearrange my life so that I get to write. It’s crucial to my well-being. Rewriting does sustain me for a while, but it doesn’t nourish me like the writing does.
I’m not going to start up another one of those meter thingies until I start typing stuff up. But still, 3 days, 2700 or so into the new novel — not too shabby.