Friday, I posted my goals for the weekend. Today I am posting a report on how well those goals were accomplished.
Unfortunately, it would be better to say this is a report on how well they were avoided.
It was a miserable failure and I have no choice but to own up to it, however much I would like to think up an excuse.
So what did I accomplish?
No writing for one. That’s right, not a single word. I feel the worst about that. I allowed other things to get in the way, but really I just didn’t feel like writing. That is a fatal error. I allowed that type of thinking for far too long, to the point that it took me four years to write my first novel.
Tonight, I am going to write. I am looking for around a thousand words.
I did do my plan. I have a publication date in mind, the date I want my first draft for the second novel, a date for the publication of that novel, a date to begin the third project, as well as allocating word goals and writing times for the rest of the year. Very preliminary stuff, the only thing I have set in stone is the publication date. I will make a post about that later today.
I also began editing the first novel. I’m trying to read it out loud to myself to get the language and dialogue right, as well as work on last minute details and continuity. It’s taking longer than I anticipated. Saturday I spent two and a half hours and only got to chapter 2 (about 12, 1.5 spaced pages). That was…unsettling.
The point of all this is, I got very little done. Most of what I listed was side stuff. It was beneficial, but did little in moving me forward. It served as a refresher in a lesson I should have learned long ago.
I have to write everyday, if only a little bit. The moment I stop that, it becomes exponentially easier to let it slide.
Time to pick up the pen again, figuratively speaking.