This month, so far, has been productive but scattered. I spent most of the day Saturday doing a thing I can’t quite call writing because, you know, words didn’t actually appear on the page. I never did figure out, at least on that day, what I was doing wrong in that story.
I know that despite getting almost nothing done, at the end of it all my brain felt like used tissue, and I went to a party and said nothing of consequence and everyone else was more interesting.
As of today:
The Godot story: 548 words to date, mostly Saturday, mostly lousy.
The violence story: Who knows? You don’t think I’m going to bother to count handwritten words, do you? I’ll just bank them for whatever day I decide to transcribe them into a proper file.
The Not-a-Werewolf book: 2584 words in the new draft (draft 9?!), some pirated from draft 8, some shiny and new.
Actually, when I look at it laid out this way, I don’t think I can call this a productive month after all.