I had a conversation with a friend recently. She called me a machine because I sometimes rock up huge ass wordcounts. She was geniunely proud of me, but she also made me realise that to someone on the outside it looks rather easy. Sit down, tap away for a few hours and voila . . . words. More voila . . . a whole novel. Yay.
There are good days, and bad days, and even worse days.
There are good words and bad words and yeah, even worse words.
Sometimes a book flows, the story blossoms, and the first drafts is simply beautiful.
And sometimes it’s utter tripe and you spend days, days and more days editing it and hating it and wanting to burn it but you can’t because it’s on your Mac and Macs are not cheap.
And yes, sometimes I do write 13000 words in a day. Often I’m happy with a lot of them. But the next day I may write all of 30 words and then I feel like crap and I’m pretty sure I suck as a writer cos my wordcount says it all and what am I if I can’t create more than a freaking sentence in a day apart from a total utter fraud?
And then I take a step back and accept that not all days are equal, and not all words are equal. Sometimes a book is so easy it to create it leaves you standing a little off kilter, wondering what just happened.
Then life makes up for it by throwing you a hot mess to fix, just to remind you that you’re not all that, and maybe it’s time to get back to work.
Here’s me going back to work ❤