Yesterday I was going to report on my WOTM progress. But I was too tired. Too tired to report, and too tired to make any more progress.
I’ve been writing in the mornings, before my daughter gets up, during that time when I’m not quite all the way awake and connected to reality. So far, it’s been working quite well. Unfortunately, yesterday she got me out of bed, and I never did have that quiet period to get my head in the right place and get going. Sometimes I can write while hearing all about the wonderful things about Tiggers and even with the laptop bobbing in time with B jumping up and down on the couch next to me. Imagine. But yesterday, whether because I genuinely couldn’t or because I didn’t try hard enough (because I did try), was not one of those days.
Yesterday I also made the mistake of doing my housework in the morning, thinking that I would sit down and write when it was done; that when I was too exhausted to do anything else physical, I could sit down and get the writing done. I think the idea was that I could put the energy I have in the morning into the physical stuff, rather than getting caught up in the writing, not getting it started until afternoon, and being totally wiped out by supper-time. But what I found was that just because I wiped myself out early, didn’t mean I was actually going to recover at some point, and that being exhausted has its mental component, doesn’t it?
I did spend my time on the keyboard. Most of it chatting with Kettle, and letting her pick my brain about this and that. I think I’ve given her some good stuff lately, which is cool. It’s a passive exercise. She sends me snippets or asks me questions, and in that state (of exhaustion) my brain works a bit more freely, makes associations more easily.
Or maybe the tired doesn’t have so much to do with it. Maybe it’s just the fact that I can sit back and let her pick. I don’t have to do anything. I don’t have to be ultimately responsible for what comes out. If I give her mostly crap with a few pearls in it, it’s her job to figure out what’s what.
When Kettle’s picking at my brain, I can see everything. Even though I don’t know where her whole story’s going and every turn-off she might take, I know where we’ve been, who the characters are, and I see it as a whole.
This, as opposed to my own writing where I sometimes can only see what’s right in front of me. Here are some notes I’ve written, here is the scene I’m working on. Focus. Just write this one part and then you can get on with the other stuff you need to do today. I don’t look around and see the scenery. I don’t think about what might be a pleasant side-trip. I just focus on the road that’s right in front of me with occasional glances to check the speed, fuel gauge, and odometer.
Are we almost there yet?