Daily work.

For someone as goal-oriented as myself, Art (or art) is not the easiest thing to tackle. What have I produced at the end of the day? How many words have I written? How are the chapters gathering, the outline solidifying?

I am having to learn to let go of these sorts of metrics. The truth is that I put myself in a spot for an hour or two each day and I let myself "work" on the project. That is the best I can do. Often this work involves a computer, but sometimes it involves some scratching around in a writing journal and every so often - today, for example- I pulled out a writing book called Naming the World and read through the exercises and guidance that lives there.

(Note: Today I realized that I have a hang-up about actually DOING the writing exercises. Because obviously I'm too good for writing exercises. I should be able to read the instructions and absorb the lessons without doing the work. HELLO, SELF. WHAAA?)

(Note 2: I did one of the exercises.)

The work of writing a book is maddening. It is 1.2 steps forward, 17 steps backwards and a motorboat trip sideways. I have no idea where I am most days.

I have never had more respect for the authors of the books I love. To tell a story? To make something from nothing? Geniuses, these people.

Except no, decidedly not geniuses.


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