Rain and wind yesterday, moderated today with temps in the 40’s (Fahrenheit). But still overcast and chilly. Not a nice weather day yet. But there are robins on my lawn, so spring is coming.
And here is Fat Boy, stretched out on his bed, but ignoring his blanket. Guess he’s decided he’s too good for a $12-on-sale flannel blanket and would prefer to sleep on chenille. He picks out the little white threads, too, so eventually, I’ll have to replace the bedspread.
I used to sit down at my desk by 7AM and write. I might work on a 1,000-question business proposal, tips on stress management, articles to improve health literacy, or the CEO’s Blog. I’d write for eight to ten hours. Sometimes 12 if we had a huge proposal with a short timeline.
No such thing as writer’s block for me. What I learned was to put something—anything—on paper. If I had time, I’d go back and edit, revising as needed. I usually didn’t have time.
You want discipline as a writer? Try a business proposal worth millions of dollars that HAS to be at the printer by noon.
Writing fiction is totally different. Time doesn’t matter. I spend a few hours on a piece, then tuck it away to ‘chill’ before editing. At some indeterminate later.
The downside? Revision seems to be never-ending.
This morning, I’m struggling to figure out whether to keep chugging away at the latest work-in-progress, or stop and rethink the outline. Meanwhile, the cat is sleeping in the office chair.
I’m thinking about joining him.