I’m starting to feel what it’s like to write 80 pages in four days. And I mean feel that in a way that’s…calm, conscious, and not overwhelming. Like it’s an exercise I know I can do; it’s not easy, but I understand the effort involved, and I can pace myself accordingly. Manage my anxiety over it. I know where the pitfalls are, the things that can knock me off track. I also know where the opportunities are, when I push, eat up a lot of ground.
I wrote 80 pages in four days last week, too. Last week was the first time I think I’d ever done such a thing. It was a big deal. This week, however, might be even bigger. A bigger corner turned, really. I was a zombie last week after doing that. Absolutely fried. This week…I’m tired, sure. It was a long, loooong week. But holy shit if I’m not all here. Exhausted, but not zonked. Not a zombie. Still me. And I pushed today, for sure, but I still had time to take a nap, clean up the house a bit before Joe comes (first week of his fall term!), spend time with pups, and watch some stuff here and there.
Huge.
We’ll see if it sticks, but this week was one for the books.
The book, by the way, is 315 pages today. I have five pages to make up because of the super busy work day yesterday…but damn. I only missed FIVE PAGES this week, I was so on it.
It’s starting to make sense. I’m getting there.
Night night.