The Production Push

You know the drill:  this is the point in the story where I come in and say “Last night I–” and then continue with a discussion of what I wrote.  But it’s also been a time of some complaining an excuse making as well, and that’s leaving me a bit discouraged even more than digging on the excitement of writing another novel.

When I returned from work I needed to decompress, so I sat and watched a movie.  Then I headed down the street to get something to eat because I was hungry and there isn’t a thing in the apartment.  Then when I came back I set up to write and found a few distractions to pull me in before I actually really truly got down to the business of writing.

And it was horrible.

It was something of a draining day at work, and I tried to bounce back from the experience as much as possible, but damn if I wasn’t so tired last night.  The energy simply wasn’t there, and I found myself not only lagging in writing, but having  trouble keeping what I wanted to say in my head long enough to get it out for saying.

The hardest part were my fingers, as in, “My fingers wouldn’t do what I wanted them to do.”  Between the new keyboard and the long nails I’ve had to figure out a whole new way of typing, and it hasn’t always been the best way.  I’m used to hitting the keys with the tops of my fingers, but due to having longer nails than I’ve ever had in my life, I now need to flatten my hands out and strike the keys with a combination of my finger pads and the nails, and I don’t always do a great job with that.  I’m also used to the old keyboards where the keys press right up against each other, and these new keyboards with the spaces between them drive me crazy after a while.

And crazy means I get frustrated.  I don’t type as fast as I once did, and haven’t to go back and fix things all the time wears you down.  I’m sue I’ll get used to this–I’m almost there now–but after three months I find myself not striking keys with enough force to get them do make a mark, and I don’t like it, not one bit.

But most of all I’m tired a lot at night, and that affects everything.

"I've written a little bit here, so . . . just a quick nap and I'm ready to go again.  I think.  Zzzzzzz."

“No, really:  I’m fine.  I just need to . . . zzzzzzzzzz.”

Someone last night said my post are like having a conversation, and I’ve always tried to do that when writing.  Only the five hundred and thirty words I wrote last night came out as one of the most stilted conversations I’ve ever held, and by the time I reached a point where I felt I needed to stop, much of the reason revolved around just feeling as if I couldn’t continue any more.

I was simply fed up.

I am in need of really getting my shit together on this book and get set up some proper times to write–

Or it’s gonna be a long novel.