Daily Word Count: 2,954
Cumulative Words Written: 20,801
Total Words Discarded: 3,750
Total Chapters Drafted: 8
Time Spent Writing Today: 4.5 hours
Some days are harder than others. In life and on residencies.
Today was one of those days.
I woke from a miserable night of insomnia. Journaled. Practiced yoga. Lacked the energy to shower. Made lunch. Did laundry. Hung it in the blazing sun. Came to my studio but couldn’t snap out of my lethargy.
The internet was possessed. Maybe it’s in the air.
I tried to nap but couldn’t, so I talked with MTM briefly. Reviewed publicist emails and halfheartedly did some other work.
Finally, around five o’clock, I started the harder task of writing.
I put it off all day, because I knew the scene before me. I had to stop working on it back in Charleston, because I got too upset. A child is brutally beaten for a minor infraction. The next day, she won’t be able to remember what she did. The leather of the razor strop obliterates everything but the whiz of sound, the sear of pain, and bewildered confusion.
As a novelist, I don’t know why my characters insist on having these experiences. Why do they drag me with them? What am I supposed to learn? Because at this point, that’s the only reason I’m writing.
I’m writing for me. Only for me.
Almost three thousand exhausting words later, words I bled from my fingers to keys-to-computer screen, I face another sleepless night of being immersed in a story as deep as a chasm at the bottom of the sea. Emotions don’t stop because I’m not writing. The story is loud in my head. It’s immersive, blissful torture to walk across the shards of it with bare feet, pick bits from my skin, and study them to see what they mean.
I don’t have any pretty pictures for you today, Dear Reader. No funny anecdotes. We creators do this to ourselves for days, weeks, decades, and hope a few people will care.