I think I might have mentioned once or twice that I like to plan, set myself goals and then try and achieve them. I set myself a pretty hefty one at the beginning of July – 50,ooo words to precise. As tomorrow is the last day of the month and it also happens to be the day I take myself off to Lancaster for a week of writing at the MA Summer School, I thought I should probably put a marker in the sand on the whole word count thing now. Deep breath.
Yep, a measly 15,000 words. Just in case you are as rubbish at maths as me, that’s 35,000 words off the target.
I feel like I should be self-flagulating right now. I could list the reasons for my complete lack of goal attainment, but they are all related to the mundanities of life that everyone has to put up with – work, house moves (mother-in-law’s not mine), sick child, absent husband etc. The usual.
So, although those 15,000 words constitute two new chapters and and some editing, I’m generally feeling a bit rubbish about my inability to get into a consistent writing pattern. Also, I’ve just had to look up the correct spelling of ‘measly’. (Dear God!)
I’m hoping that next week’s submersion amongst writerly types will pull me out of this mire.
This is possibly the most miserable blog post I have ever written. Anyway, I’m considering it as a much needed slap across the face. Virtual self-flagulation if you will. Whoop-de-doo.