For reasons I can’t really get into at the moment, I’ve been doing a lot of writing lately. A lot lot of writing. Like, an hour in the morning, a half hour during my lunch break, then six hours when I get home (assuming I haven’t been otherwise occupied with a certain woodshed). Today, I’m home sick, but–you guessed it–I’m still writing. It’s been like this for the past few weeks.
So what does it feel like, writing full time in addition to working full time?
Stressful. I’m not much of a two full time sort of a guy, I don’t think. Writing for me is usually a relaxing thing I do for a change of pace each day, sort of like the Beethoven class I wrote about yesterday. I’m okay with this binge writing for now (because an end is in sight, and I’m doing it for a particular purpose), but I definitely couldn’t do both on a long term basis. Which is good, since I don’t see my writing as picking up enough to support my family all on its lonesome. I typically write about 500 words a day. Sometimes as much as 1,000. That’s a pace that can churn out a good book or two a year (YA length), plus give me time for revisions, should the need arise. (Of course, what with plotting and reworking plotting, I seldom get two books done in a year. I’m happy to get one done.) I know that if I needed to or wanted to, I could up the daily word count to 1,000 and still be fine working full time, too.
Not really sure what else I want to say about all of this. Just an observation that there can be too much of a good thing sometimes, I suppose. It’s hard to force yourself to be creative for long stretches, but sometimes, that’s what you have to do.
Anyway, I still have about 14 pages I want revised by the end of the day, minimum. And they’re 14 tricky pages. Not easy ones. Which is why I’ve been writing this blog post, instead. And it’s also why I have to stop now.
Have a nice weekend, everyone. And send good thoughts my way.