Wait, the Hare didn’t win?
Here’s my routine: I work every weekday, leaving my house at around 7:15am, usually getting home 11 or 12 hours later. After a hasty dinner and a few chores, I go up to my office to write for an hour or two before falling into bed and doing the same thing the next day. On weekends, I try to keep my household running by doing more chores and errands, and I try to have a bit of a life too.
I’ve got a writing schedule to adhere to, a self-imposed deadline (like I don’t get enough of those at work!) that keeps my nose to the grindstone. I have to keep going, every chance I get. Have to get this first draft finished. I don’t want to lose momentum…
But sometimes, I fear I’m rushing. Writing too fast, not laboring over every word and phrase, every nuance and cadence the way I should. Basically, I’ve become a slave to my page count.
I keep telling myself I’ll have a chance to fix all the awkward patches once I get the first draft written and enter the rewrite stage, and that thought makes me optimistic.
After all, the Hare didn’t get a chance to run the race over, now, did he?
Katy,
I enjoyed today’s entry. I, too, spent the day writing, but nothing as interesting as a mystery.
I spent the day writing 20 pages of corrections for my group’s Middle State’s report.
Jack cleaned and cooked and is now sitting reading a really great book,Meeting Murder. He says that he can’t face you one more time and not have read your book.
He likes it. As good as Patterson, he says.
I’ll talk to you soon.
Love,Beth