Believe me, I’m not going to spend every day for the rest of my life (or the rest of this blog) talking about how I did or did not do morning pages. It’s just that the exercise itself is still so very new, and in conjunction I’ve been struggling to meet a deadline on a short story that morning pages really seems to be helping me with. So it’s been on my mind a whole lot.
I’m a little less optimistic about meeting that deadline, since it’s this Friday — and I just realized, with some shock, it’s not this Saturday — but I’m still going to plug away at it. I can always try to do something else with it if I miss The First Line‘s cut-off.
But for now, let me just say this: yesterday and today both, I did my requisite three pages in the morning, and I pulled together a page of short story each evening. Which, as I think I’ve said, is very good for me. I’ve had productive flashes before, but I am usually a painfully slow writer. The 17,000 words I wrote over a long weekend for 2011’s 3 Day Novel contest were a sleep-deprived, Canadian Rockies-influenced anomaly. (Also, while incredibly fun, probably not my best writing. Though I keep thinking I should do something with it.)
Beyond the writing, there isn’t much to report. I worked from home today. I think my brain may explode from trying to figure out political psychology. It rained a lot this evening. I’ve recently discovered Bunheads, which is filling that Gilmore Girls-sized hole I didn’t even realize I had in my life. (I still haven’t watched that show’s last season.) And that’s about it, really.