In my third day of forcing myself to write, last night I managed to struggle through 500 words. I counted every single one and watched the word counter like some kind of freedom countdown clock. As soon as I finished the sentence containing my 500th word, I closed the laptop lid in disgust.
I don’t know yet what the correlation is between the enjoyable writing and the truly forced march writing. Two days ago I enjoyed the process and felt connected to my story. Last night, I felt like I was dragging a bunch of concrete blocks behind me, with each pull of the bricks being a word that I had to force my hands to produce. There was nothing smooth, natural, or enjoyable about last night’s writing.
I hope to do some more writing today (well, I have to, since I am forcing myself to do this). What I hope is that the writing today is more enjoyable and I am more pleased with what I write.
One can hope…