some dilemma
Honestly, this motivation thing is such a mystery to me. The way it comes and goes and baffles me with its goddamned stupid timing. Here I've got several hours left that I can make use of and I have the material but all my energy and brainpower has just evaporated. And it's not like I haven't eaten or drunk water. My body should be able to write. But it's not.
Last night at 3am, I was raring to go. But I made myself not. Because I thought "No, let's just be sensible about this. If you start writing now, you'll collapse in a few hours, sleep the entire day away, wake up at five in the evening, stay awake the whole night and then be utterly useless for work on Wednesday morning."
Woke at noon which was actually better than I expected. Wrote a thousand words, stopped to eat lunch and watch a movie, wrote another thousand and have just given up. When there's all this time I could still use. But I'm not feeling it at all.
I was thinking at 3am that I should just take two weeks off so I can power through this last bit without interruption, without having to force myself to stop and go to work and then struggle to regain the thread of the novel. If I had two weeks with no work and enough food in the cupboards and all the bills paid, I could just closet myself in here, risk the cabin fever, and write as much as I bloody well want at any bloody time I want and really fire through this final most important act. NaNo it, basically.
I do have food in the cupboards. Most of the bills have been paid. I get paid again this Friday. And actually I know how many hours I worked this fortnight so I could calculate how much money I'll get to tide me over two weeks of not working. But what if? The St Jerome Laneway tix go on sale on the 19th and I'll have enough money to cover that. I even have more money coming to me from people.
I could, couldn't I?
Only the boss sent out an email today that work was picking up. It would possibly complicate things if I suddenly said "O hai, yeah, I can't work for the next two weeks. I need to wroite." I'll have to put in a proper leave form tomorrow, haven't done that in years. And I may well come back completely exhausted and drained. But it'll be done. Rather than this dragging out, week after week, two days on, five days off. I'm impatient enough at this point in the novel to want not to be disturbed, to want no interruptions now, damnit.
And the thought also occurs to me that if I take the next two weeks off, I might conceivably finish this novel by the time NaNoWriMo begins. Which would make it exactly a year since I began the novel. If I don't, I may finish by the end of the year and that dismays me a little.
Sean's going to hate me very soon. He's in shock right now but oh he's going to hate me. I'm already feeling slightly guilty about it but am blocking that out by necessity. No, sorry, Sean, my duty is to the story, not just you.
Wordcount: 222,447
Pages: 693.
I'm tired. I don't know why I'm tired. And I'm sad but I know exactly why I'm sad. *sigh* Stupid oversensitive writer person.
I have to return some videotapes DVDs.
Last night at 3am, I was raring to go. But I made myself not. Because I thought "No, let's just be sensible about this. If you start writing now, you'll collapse in a few hours, sleep the entire day away, wake up at five in the evening, stay awake the whole night and then be utterly useless for work on Wednesday morning."
Woke at noon which was actually better than I expected. Wrote a thousand words, stopped to eat lunch and watch a movie, wrote another thousand and have just given up. When there's all this time I could still use. But I'm not feeling it at all.
I was thinking at 3am that I should just take two weeks off so I can power through this last bit without interruption, without having to force myself to stop and go to work and then struggle to regain the thread of the novel. If I had two weeks with no work and enough food in the cupboards and all the bills paid, I could just closet myself in here, risk the cabin fever, and write as much as I bloody well want at any bloody time I want and really fire through this final most important act. NaNo it, basically.
I do have food in the cupboards. Most of the bills have been paid. I get paid again this Friday. And actually I know how many hours I worked this fortnight so I could calculate how much money I'll get to tide me over two weeks of not working. But what if? The St Jerome Laneway tix go on sale on the 19th and I'll have enough money to cover that. I even have more money coming to me from people.
I could, couldn't I?
Only the boss sent out an email today that work was picking up. It would possibly complicate things if I suddenly said "O hai, yeah, I can't work for the next two weeks. I need to wroite." I'll have to put in a proper leave form tomorrow, haven't done that in years. And I may well come back completely exhausted and drained. But it'll be done. Rather than this dragging out, week after week, two days on, five days off. I'm impatient enough at this point in the novel to want not to be disturbed, to want no interruptions now, damnit.
And the thought also occurs to me that if I take the next two weeks off, I might conceivably finish this novel by the time NaNoWriMo begins. Which would make it exactly a year since I began the novel. If I don't, I may finish by the end of the year and that dismays me a little.
Sean's going to hate me very soon. He's in shock right now but oh he's going to hate me. I'm already feeling slightly guilty about it but am blocking that out by necessity. No, sorry, Sean, my duty is to the story, not just you.
Wordcount: 222,447
Pages: 693.
I'm tired. I don't know why I'm tired. And I'm sad but I know exactly why I'm sad. *sigh* Stupid oversensitive writer person.
I have to return some videotapes DVDs.