I’ve written twenty words.
That’s about half a sentence. I mean, it could be like six sentences, if I wasn’t trying to do too much with this first sentence.
But I’m not worrying about that right now. Editing is for later.
Right now I’m worrying about getting past that first sentence.
To be honest, I haven’t exactly been writing non stop for the last half hour, because first I had to find the right music, and I was tired of my i-Tunes playlist, so I listened to Noelle Bybee and Sawyer Fredericks sing ‘Have You Ever Seen The Rain’ on The Black Hole (YouTube) which was amazing, and then I wanted to download the Mulan soundtrack from the library, which I can do with some music because our library is cool like that, but then they didn’t have it, so I found it on YouTube, then I saw this parody version where they ran the lyrics through GoogleTranslate, which was funny, so I started watching the other parodies they had made, realized I was wasting time dreadfully, and went back to my i-Tunes playlist, because it is much less distracting.
That, by the way, is a 140 word sentence.
I need coffee.
But I already had black tea this morning. And it’s only 10:45. I shouldn’t need coffee before 12. True, I only got about 5 1/2 hours of sleep last night, but come on, I’m 20 years old, I should be able to get away with abusing sleep like this, right? Older people keep saying things like “I just can’t stay up late and get up early and get away with it anymore, I need my sleep now that I’m older…” And I’m just like, Well, when I get older I am in TROUBLE!
Besides, I only stayed up late because I was watching a movie, which I chose to watch, knowing I still had to get up at a reasonable hour this morning, because I wanted to watch it. (It was Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark, a.k.a. Indiana Jones and the Snake Pit of Doom and the Ghost Fire That Melts Faces. I saw like half of it when I was ten or so and it terrified me. I totally understand why.)
OK, by now I’m just avoiding reality.
Reality being the fact that I told myself I was going to write 3,000 words today, on a specific story that for some reason does not want to come this morning.
|This is exactly how I feel.|
Why do I set these stupid goals for myself? Why not say I’m going to write 300 words, about anything, today? If I had said that, I’d be done by now.
Because I have this fear that life will get away from me and I’ll be stuck with a bunch of half written stories that never get finished, polished, any semblance of published. At least now I know that if that does happen, I’ll have at least one finished, published novel.
Not that any of that matters, or should matter. Or should it? Why am I writing anyway? What is the POINT of all this?
What is the meaning of life?
(See? Deadlines, goals, and the like are evil. They cause you to question your very reason for existence!)
I’m going to stop now. I’ve written over 500 words in about fifteen minutes, which proves that I’m not entirely impotent. Let’s not talk about the quality of the aforementioned words. I’m going for quantity today. (Editing is for later. I’d put that on the wall if I could think of a way of saying it that sounds cooler…)
2980 to go.
I’m making another cup of tea…