I’m hot in the middle (or at the very least, a positive first quarter) of a new writing project. It’s ambitious and demanding and I’m at the point where I want to give up because it’s getting hard. That’s when I know it’s going right.
The serious bummer is that I’ve lost nearly two weeks of writing time to a serious cold– a cold that has kept me from work, sent me to the doctor, and has me taking antibiotics. And my physical suffering is directly affecting my word count. I have diverted all available energy into breathing and stuff. Sheesh. So much for multi-tasking.
I’m getting extra cranky about this since I’m now trying to stay awake for more hours than I sleep. I’ve been reading [just finished Crooked Little Vein by Warren Ellis] and making some plot notes for my project, but my mind is just not with it. It’s funny, I’m ill enough (and then some) to be off work and in a horizontal position for most of the day and night, but I’m not dying enough to forgive myself for not writing. I feel like I’m wasting time. I’ve let two weeks speed by in a blurry whoosh of naps, more naps, and the odd hour of consciousness being split between reruns of Scrubs or reading the above mentioned novel.
If I don’t type out 500 words between snoozes today I’ll, I’ll…
I’ll have to sulk and take a nap. I don’t even have the energy to punish myself.
I’m such a wuss.
UPDATE: 800 words. And now I must sleep. 🙂