Verite

I have a stiff neck. I took a muscle relaxer last night and was incoherent when Rob called. Dragged myself out of bed at 8 to write, but instead read what I’d already written, read some blogs, listened to an entire CD and basically didn’t feel like writing anything for a full hour. It wasn’t writer’s block, per se, because I know what to write, I just didn’t feel like jumping back into the narrative thread I started or starting a new one.

At about 9, while shuffling from the toaster back to my computer, I came up with:
“Lying in bed on a rainy Tuesday morning, Beth wondered if she should eat another slice of toast with peanut butter. She was trying to lose five pounds before the wedding.”

Which is clearly fiction as I was not in bed and it is not Tuesday.

Yesterday, I thought what a nice life it would be if I could sit around all day and write. But of course, the intent is to do this for 30 days with a goal of completing 50,000 words in that time. If I don’t sell the finish product, or even get it into the state of finished producthood, I still will have accomplished something.

However, I think it would be pretty miserable to slave away for months on stuff that doesn’t sell. A friend just sold her first screenplay in the seven years since college that she has been writing them and not selling them. That’s a long time to keep at it with little gratification.

Have you noticed how I somehow have more time to blog now that I have the responsibility of writing 1,667 words a day in addition to the ridiculous amount of work product my employers expect me to put out?

I’m shy of my quota this morning by about 650 words…but i have to go to work.