November 17th, 2005



Nothing like writing a novel to make you bipolar. Written maybe two dozen words in three days. I can write an impressive burst, but I have no stamina. I need to write over 6,000 words tomorrow just to be as far behind as I was Sunday night. NaNo just isn't going to happen. I can make excuses, mostly to do with the fact that November is the worst possible month for me, or that my job is taking up my time, or some such nonsense, but those are just excuses.

2,000 words a day between now and the end of the year is not an unreachable goal. That ought to be just about enough to reach the end of the novel, even with the padding for all the days I'll write nothing. Assuming I can write my way out of this mire I'm stuck in, of course. Part of the problem is that this book is, necessarily, incredibly depressing. Part of it is that I have far less worked out than I thought I did -- turns out all the plans I made in October, when combined with what I worked out a couple of years ago, add up to a 30,000-word novella that makes no sense. Mostly, though, it's my inability to stick to any kind of plan and my mad procrastination skillz.

I can't take this

I can't keep track of schedules spread across four different documents AND act as a post office AND check DVDs AND proof packaging AND copy edit EDLs AND fix the disaster that is UnitedStreaming AND fight down the urge to beat my head against the wall until one or the other starts bleeding AND do whatever the other thing was I could remember a second ago.

Something has to give.
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