The painful slog portion of the program
So the WRITE ALL THE THINGS phase has passed. I'm now in the "I don't know what happens next" phase.
It's irksome, because there's really no way (that I know of, for me) to goose the muse. He's decided to go on holiday. I keep explaining that I'm perfectly fine with him lying about the house getting drunk here if he likes, but he mutters something about the gender balance being all wrong and he's going where the hot guys are. I dunno. He hasn't even the decency to bring me with him. Wretch.
ANYWAY, this is a thing I recognize. A thing where sometimes I just put the book down for months and don't do any writing. I know this is dumb. I know that when my muse (he hasn't got a name. Maybe that's his problem) comes home, he'll be all hungover and while he'll shoo me to the computer, he won't provide much inspiration for a few days. It'll be 200 words a day for a week, and then things will open up again.
So I'm trying to outfox him. I've missed a couple of days, but I'm trying to at least turn on the stupid computer and open the file and write one fucking sentence. Sometimes it's a very short sentence. Sometimes it gives me another sentence, maybe even two.
Basically, on the days I actually write something, I'm getting anywhere between 5 and 50 words and being willing to take that. But it's forward progress.
I have just realized that this is pretty much identical (for metaphorical values of "identical") to getting up that snowy hill in my last post.