Lately I’ve been trying to get one housework chore a day done, no matter what. Scrub the bathroom floor, clean out the fridge, wash the steps. Do one thing, and eventually, there won’t be so much darkness to curse–that’s the hypothesis. (Data is not yet voluminous enough to prove the hypothesis.)
Today, no housework was done.
I also didn’t get myself onto the tread desk–not even once-t, not even for a mile. Tomorrow, I will do better, promise.
But today, no miles.
I made no progress on my newest Work In Progress, a story for Sir John Dewey Fanning (Jack to his friends), and Madeline Hennessey. If you write a thousand words a day, you’ll have a rough draft in about three months, which is what I need to do to get that sucker published in June.
No words for Jack and Maddie today.
I could on about all the stuff I didn’t do, forgot, half-did, and otherwise fell short on. Couldn’t we all? Today I dropped just about every ball I’m supposed to carry down the field. And yet…
I FINISHED A MANUSCRIPT!!!!
The story for Hamish MacHugh and Megan Windham is Complete in Draft (after a WIP comes a CID) at about 85,000 words. I have a long way to go with the polishing, fine-tuning, double-checking, and revising, but I’m across the finish line with the first, hardest, most uphill lap of the race.
You’d think writing a book would get easier after about the twentieth attempt, but nope. I’ve used up my backlog of clever ideas, trotted out my fave period slang, sprinkled in all the cool trivia I’ve been carrying around for years. Worse, I know a lot more about what makes weak prose, mostly because I see in in my published books.
So starting the manuscript for a new story is a terrifying leap, and every time, I’m SURE, this time, my parachute won’t open. Today, I landed safely, once again, smack on those two lovely words, “THE END.”
My house is not so clean, my step count is in the ditch, all other projects screeched to a halt, but I finished a book. Tomorrow, I’ll tear back into Jack and Maddie’s story, get on the “dread” desk, and… vacuum the living room.
Except, it occurs to me, nobody is going to steal my WIP, my tread desk, or my vacuum cleaner, and it’s not every day another book is born. Maybe I should remark this occasion with some… celebration?
Now there’s a thought.
When you reach a milestone, complete a project, survive a visit from the in-laws, or pay off a big debt–how do you celebrate? When was the last time you celebrated your own wonderful self and all the amazing things you accomplish?
To one commenter, I’ll send a signed copy of Lady Maggie’s Secret Scandal, a story about a lady who needed to learn to celebrate her own wonderfulness.