I doesn’t take long to realize that sometimes your plans aren’t going to come through for you, no matter how hard you try. You can always keep trying, of course, but at some point you realize that you may have to work extra hard to get things done.
Like yesterday . . .
I’m in the process of moving again. I need to check out of this hotel by next Friday and slip into my new old apartment that same day. I’m trying to get an internet hookup, but the contact person I’m trying to reach isn’t returning my calls. Tonight I need to stop by and arrange to have some furniture delivered to the place next Thursday, and then I need to eat, and then . . .
Well, then comes either writing or editing. I’m flipping a mental coin here, because I know what I should do: it’s a matter of what I want to do.
Last night I wrote a lot. I took my time and got it right, and there were a few moments when three or four hundred words flew out of my fingers in a good, fast spurt. In two and a half hours I wrote a little over twelve hundred words, which isn’t bad–until I remember there was a time when I used to do that in an hour.
Distractions. I haz them, you haz them. Strangely enough, I’m writing about them. My story is about a person trying to make a report, and how they’re distracted by . . . well, there in lay the kicker. Needless to say they don’t have email to check or Facebook to suck up time like a meme-ridden black hole. I’m actually getting better at ignoring these things, and my writing slow down, as I’ve said, is more from a sense of trying to get things right more than anything else.
I need to pick up speed, however. If i want to do NaNo, I need to speed up.
Someone asked in one of the writing groups, “How do you manage to write when you’re working a job?” The answer? You just do. You lock yourself up in your little simulation of life that is writing time in front of whatever medium you use, and you start making with the words. You make like the character I’m writing about: you get in said simulation and try to pretend there’s nothing outside of your current world, it’s just you and your characters and the setting, and you advance the action along.
Unlike my character, however, you don’t go for the virtual modeling menu and start screwing around making up another world to play in so you can get your mind off the fact that you have something in front of you that needs doing . . .
The next scene in my short story will see the character getting something they don’t want. I won’t say what, but it leads to a resolution in the fifth scene, and I’m now thinking a sixth scene may not be necessary, because it doesn’t add anything to the story. Five scenes, maybe another twenty-five hundred words? If so, I have accomplished what I wanted to do: write an actual short story.
Then it’s time to build another simulation of life.