Ask me how much I've accomplished. Go ahead, ask me.
I have managed to type in a single page. This raises pathetic to a whole, new, appallingly laughable level.
Usually when I leave my house to write, writing is the first thing on my agenda. I get a coffee, or whatever, to pay my 'rent' at whichever Starbucks I'm inhabiting, sit my ass down, stick my headphones in and get to work. First writing, then editing the first book or typing in the second.
But today I thought I'd do something different - mostly because I was so fuzzy-headed when I sat down in the first place. Dehydration, doncha know? I decided it wouldn't hurt to log on. Mistake #1. I've sent an e-mail, ordered another book from the library, checked my e-mail 45 times, reloaded my Starbucks card, read through a couple of blogs and started an IM conversation.
Then I decided that since I was so fuzzy-headed it'd be smarter to just mindlessly type in the stuff I've already written instead of trying to create something new. Mistake #2. But I edit when I type, and I can barely concentrate on my words, much less on making them better, so that's why I've only inputted a single page of work.
And I've sucked down forty oz of water, twenty oz of coffee, a cup of soup and still don't have to pee - in fact, I'm still fuzzy-headed and want a bit more water. And I'm beating myself up for not creating, and not editing and basically not being an author when an author is what I'm supposed to be. At least that's what the little voice in my head keeps telling me. And I think I'll keep starting sentences with "and" because that's what all the kool kids do.
Can you guess what Mistake #3 is? I'll clue you in, it's a combo of Mistake #1 plus Mistake #2... it's taking what little creative energy I have and staying online and blogging about it instead of logging the eff off and writing. Because I am aiming for that point buried a few feet under the new low of pathetic that I have already reached.
Self-pubbing short stories
1 hour ago