My ambition to hit ~2k everyday is startling difficult. It’s not the 2k, it’s the everyday part. I write in fits and spurts. I did something like 4k today, but on many days I struggle to hit 300.
I tell myself a few things.
First, hitting wordcount is more important than not deleting wordcount later. This is a practiced skill or developed muscle. It’s more important to make progress than make good progress, for quality can be checked and revised later. Besides, a lot of the time what I do is fine, and it’s only my own poor estimation of what I write that is the problem.
Second, I tried the only writing when inspired before, and it doesn’t work. Everyone who writes will tell you this. All the great authors who write about writing agree. You’ve got to move the cursor.
Third, I have no idea what you people want.
Fourth, I’m running out of time. I’m coming to the end of this experiment of mine soon, and my attempts to stave it off are growing weak. I’m running low on money and time, and I won’t be able to do this full-time much longer.
Often I set deadlines for myself and ignore them because I’m the one setting deadlines. This isn’t one of those deadlines. This is harsh reality, and if I don’t make a lot of progress and soon, this is all going to end. Then it’s back in the other place.
You know that feeling of last-minute panic? I’ve been getting a vague anxiety for a while, and that’s a diffuse, disrupting terror that makes progress difficult. That’s falling away. Now I think of bank statements and rent payments, and if I don’t get things done, my bank will get me. I’m not in dread of some vague anything; I know I’m running out of time. And that’s focus. I’m not going out with a half-assed “I gave it my best” when I darn well know I didn’t. This little fantasy of mine is getting both buttcheeks of motivation, and boys and girls, I do squats.