I finally eclipsed 40,000 words this week. It took a little longer than I anticipated (what doesn’t?) but I did it. Forty percent of the way to completion, by standard measure, of a manuscript. That’s not quite halfway, but it is a significant chunk of text. At this point in the game I find myself thinking that at a hypothetical pace of one thousand words per day I would be done in two months. I could be finished with a first draft in sixty days if I could maintain that pace. IF.
Today I’ve written not quite six hundred words. It took a little over an hour. A thousand words a day is a doable thing, but looking up at it like a mountain is daunting. Even as I write this I see the words ‘sixty days’ and wonder what the hell I’m thinking. For me the secret of finishing a task of herculean proportions is to attack it in small chunks, until I have devoured it en masse.
That having been said, six hundred words is not one thousand, so after a little sustenance break I suppose I’ll get back to it. After all, in sixty days I’ll have either done it or not, but sixty days will still have passed. It’s pretty exciting to think that the only thing keeping me from a finished draft in the next two months in myself. Hope I can learn to get the fuck out of my own way.