As a general rule, I enjoy deadlines. Yes, they do make a lovely whooshing sound as they fly by, but as a rule I tend to respond well to them. The only deadlines and requirements I can't seem to flourish under are my own. For The Thief Book, I told myself to write 1500 words a day. It was going rather well for a while, until my work ended up on my alpha reader's desk for about five days, eating through all of my leeway and putting me painfully behind.
As a rule, I despise playing catch-up. I can do it, but it takes a long time, and I hate doing it. Still, that's what I'm doing now, and it makes me whiny and annoying to others. I told myself I should finish chapter three today, except I wrote the number of pages I meant to write and still have not a) caught up or b) finished the chapter. And I just don't have it in me to finish the chapter tonight.
Yes, I know, if I'm behind, I should probably not be blogging right now. Except, it's either close the notebook for the night, or moan for about five minutes straight over a blank page and a diet coke. So, for the moment, good night.
Anyone else have moments/hours/days/light years like this?
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