It seems I’m in a funk today. I should be writing. I finally started the new novel. (You know, the sequel to the book people are actually telling me they really like. The pen name one, not Erelia. I got fan mail for it if you can believe that.)
But I’m not writing.
Because I get stuck putzing around on the Internet doing nothing of any use to anyone, including myself. Now, sometimes this happens because the story isn’t quite ready to be written and needs a little more time to develop in that dark region of my mind that I know is there but can’t access.
Sometimes I just get distracted by crap.
I admire those authors (like Amanda M. Lee) who can write for eight hours a day five days a week. I bow down to their dedication and work ethic. But I, as a writer, just don’t do it.
Which is where I wonder if maybe I’m not better off with just a boring old day job. Because when I had one of those, I showed up, put in my hours without a thought, and got paid for it. I didn’t like spending ten to twelve hours a day in the office and showing up on weekends, but I did it. Without a second thought.
Imagine how much I could’ve written if I did the same with my writing. Let’s see, I maybe average 1,500 words an hour fully edited. Which at 50 weeks a year, 50 hours a week, is 3.75 million words. Let’s halve that. Say the other half is promo and advertising and taxes and things. That’s still 1.9 million words.
Hahahaha….Yeah, not even close are we?
Seriously, I wish I were motivated by money instead of some vague notion of self-fulfillment and purpose that drives me to walk away from cold, hard cash to sit alone in a room and create weird stories. Alas, I’m not.
And when I do get stuck in an office doing boring work with no discernible purpose I get very cranky. I don’t have high blood pressure, but sitting through a two-hour meeting that really doesn’t accomplish anything makes me feel like I should.
So I guess an office job is out of the question. Which means I need to get my butt in gear and actually write something…