The final thousand words starts not with a bang but a whimper. My wrists hurt from typing, I\u2019m losing focus on the words I\u2019m writing. Outside, the rain continues on this cold, dreary February 7th. I\u2019m hungry. I haven\u2019t eaten all day. I had work deadlines and I blew them off. Though, by the time this posts, I\u2019ll have been weeks out of my hideous job. Yay! I\u2019ve been drinking water all day like a responsible aging human so I am ready for my vodka tonic reward (it\u2019s now 3:24, and my deadline for finishing 10,000 words was 4pm).
\n<\/p>\n
My thumbs up mix has been playing all day at top volume, but the music has fallen into a sort of background white noise. It\u2019s moved me along but I couldn\u2019t tell you what I\u2019ve been listening to, or if there have been any particular inspirational moments. <\/p>\n
The door to my office has been closed all day, the lights off so there\u2019s been nothing but the glow from the screen and the stormlight. <\/p>\n
When I started writing this morning I said I was doing this to blow thoughts about my last book out of the front yard of my brain and, I think, I\u2019ve done that. Because I\u2019m sitting here thinking, hell, I could easily sit down and say \u201cI\u2019m going to write 10,000 words of my sci-fi novel today!\u201d That would, actually, come very close to finishing the first draft. <\/p>\n
Writing is always obsessed with deadlines. Writers say they need deadlines and so do editors. But, as an editor who has worked for other people, I\u2019ve found that deadlines are toxic. I don\u2019t mind so much if I impose them on myself, but having someone else say get it to me by such and such a date is toxic. The tendency, I think, is to put it off until such and such a date and then squeeze out something atrocious. <\/p>\n
Instead, writers must look to themselves. These words come from within us. We\u2019re following our demons, our hearts, our characters. We\u2019re walking through a landscape that, even as we do walk though it, we\u2019re creating.<\/p>\n
There\u2019s this sense that anything can happen, even when you outline to death. There\u2019s something going on \u2013 some sort of power \u2013 that no publisher or managing editor can control or manipulate. We don\u2019t need deadlines. We just need to sit down and do it. You can pop out a thousand words and refine them in an hour if you want. And, hey, they don\u2019t need to be about anything. They don\u2019t need to change anything or anyone. There doesn\u2019t need to be a lesson. Just 1000 words of whatever you\u2019re feeling. I\u2019m watching the rain, I\u2019m dreaming of somewhere else, I need to pee\u2026<\/p>\n
I\u2019ve spent today thinking about my writing (as I\u2019ve written about thinking about my writing) and what it means to me. My realization is that publishing my memoir first may have been necessary but, probably, not wise. It feels more like the end game in a writing career than the debut. Reorganizing my thoughts from introspective examination to a sci-fi adventure on another world has been difficult. So what I\u2019ve done here is, yes, empty everything out. And , along the way, I\u2019ve created content for GS so I don\u2019t have to worry about the dead front page so much.<\/p>\n
So I guess I did have a purpose in these 10,000 words. Oh, well. So much for writing lessons. What I should do is write more publishing lessons! Bad contracts from bad small presses! I could go over them all and really get that word count up. But, sadly, they\u2019re all pretty much the same. Which is another writer\u2019s lesson. Every book takes a village, but you can only trust your own instincts. Everyone in that village will tell you that they know what\u2019s good for you and, in desperation, in the face of low or no royalty payments, you\u2019ll listen to them. But that just makes everything worse. You have to walk a tightrope of self awareness and also awareness of what your audience needs. <\/p>\n
No, wait. Does my audience need these 10,000 words? Did this do anything for anybody or was it just word vomit therapy? <\/p>\n
Yes, it was word vomit therapy. I have no idea how many breaks I\u2019ve made so when will this post? Late April? This cold February rain will be a distant memory. Today will be! I\u2019ve cataloged a day in the life of Nacho\u2019s interior monologue right here which may or may not prove interesting a few months down the line, eh? We\u2019ll see. After all this shit I\u2019ve been spewing today, I\u2019m now terrified that I\u2019ll be dead by April and everyone will be reading my obit and laughing. He loser died in his 40s! Serves him right! Maybe he farted himself to death! Or maybe a small press owner snapped and shot him at the bus stop. <\/p>\n
I wonder if 10,000 words a day are as healthy as 10,000 steps? I feel like I have gotten a workout, but it\u2019s all in the back of my skull and in my eyes that keep losing focus.
\nAnyway, maybe this got Great Society some new readers? I hope I didn\u2019t die because I might do this again. Every quarter \u2013 a 10,000 word vomit session! Then this whole page will become an insane catalog of my slow and horrible mental collapse. <\/p>\n
And, now, I\u2019ll just use up a bunch of words to tip the scale and then go make my motherfucking vodka tonic! The sad part is that I\u2019m only a few words short, but I\u2019m so obsessed with hitting 10,000 that I\u2019m still going. I could stop and it would be fair enough! But this is like those fucking Untappd badges. I have to get the 10,000 word achievement! I\u2019m glad there\u2019s at least one app on my phone that has taught me the art of pointless internet obsession. I was starting to feel like I was missing out on something. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
The final thousand words starts not with a bang but a whimper. My wrists hurt from typing, I\u2019m losing focus on the words I\u2019m writing. Outside, the rain continues on this cold, dreary February 7th. I\u2019m hungry. I haven\u2019t eaten …<\/p>\n