The Mystery of Motivation
So I spent November in this kind of frenzy, really; writing everyday, (almost) always making daily wordcount, rushing towards my goal... It was great. I was WRITING. I was CREATING SOMETHING. I was PRODUCTIVE.
And then came December. And now I struggle to get 100, 200 words on the page, down from a daily average of over 2K. I spend my time forumizing, or in chat, or angsting about having to share my writing space. I don't spend my time writing. Why is this? I know I should be writing. I open my draft, I stare at it, I delete a word and add another, I push around sentences and put them back. I wonder. I worry. I wear down the carpet as I pace around the room. What is so different between November and December?
The draft feels wrong, the words feel wrong, the characters aren't doing what I want them to do. Why was this so much easier last month? *plod plod plod*
And then came December. And now I struggle to get 100, 200 words on the page, down from a daily average of over 2K. I spend my time forumizing, or in chat, or angsting about having to share my writing space. I don't spend my time writing. Why is this? I know I should be writing. I open my draft, I stare at it, I delete a word and add another, I push around sentences and put them back. I wonder. I worry. I wear down the carpet as I pace around the room. What is so different between November and December?
The draft feels wrong, the words feel wrong, the characters aren't doing what I want them to do. Why was this so much easier last month? *plod plod plod*