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Gosh, doesn’t that sound inspiring. πŸ™‚

Ah, it’s Monday. The weekend is over, I have a well-earned headache from overdoing the workout yesterday (no, that’s not how you thought I got that, was it?), Her Dogginess is sulking on the bed because I surprised her with medicine this morning, poor thing… and I am sitting here, shiatsu chair massager working the knots out of my shoulders, coffee in hand, listening to birds argue with each other outside, feeling more or less okay with my plans for the week — or, well, the day, anyway. Life is good.

It wasn’t a bad weekend, all in all.

I did not finish chapter 3 of the new WIP (for now dubbed DARKLY, though we’ll see how long that lasts). I did not finish the outline I’ve been picking away at. I still don’t know how this story ends, which means I’m not even 100% sure, despite several weeks of effort, that I’m going to get to that ending: I may drop it for a new shiny at any moment. When I put it out there, it doesn’t sound like a weekend I ought to be proud of.

But I have been, and I’m going to, put in a bare minimum of 500 words a day regardless, because when I’m doing that at least I’m doing that, whereas when I’m not, all I’m doing is… not writing. And that’s something worth a little pride, I guess.

At these points, when I’m not sure of anything, least of all my ability to start and finish a book, the best I can do is fake it. (And you know you all thought of this scene when I said that: how could anybody forget that performance?)

I may delete everything I put down later on; I may abandon this project altogether; I may decide it should be in first person or my MC should be from Poland or it should have werebuffalo in it, and start over from scratch — this early in a WIP anything can happen (though I do admit I’ll be extremely surprised if a werebuffalo makes an appearance)– but as long as I’m doing something that feels like forward motion, I’m okay.

If I’m sitting there contemplating my navel in writerly angst, trying to wrangle out of my head a plot, a character, or just some certainty that I’m going to want to finish this project — well, eventually (okay, in about 15 minutes: I don’t have the world’s longest attention span) I realize I could be doing something much more useful, like, say, laundry.

Which is not to say there aren’t times when letting your brain work things out sans pressure is a good thing: during first scenes and late middle-of-the-book scenes, it’s an absolute necessity for me. But there are also times when that’s just an excuse, and this is one of those times.

So here I am, pushing forward, even if I have no idea where I’m going at the moment. Yay?