I realized that I am completely OCD about word counts. I set word goals for myself and yell at myself if I don’t reach them. I justify this guilt-inducing practice by reassuring myself that my goals are reasonable. I know if I can write 5000 words a week, then I will have a viable first draft done sometime in June.
I’m talking a lot about it also to hold myself accountable. But I refuse to be fucked up about my own drive. I’m at a stage in my manuscript that if I don’t set some parameters, I will never finish. It’s all about knowing your stages.
When I officially started this project, some dear people told me NOT to revise, just to write. I wasn’t to worry about what the hell I was doing writing a stupid memoir, I was just to put words on the page. And so I went to a two-week residency and wrote a hundred pages. A whole lot of it was shit. But there was stuff I could work with, improve, and salvage for parts. I didn’t worry, I just wrote.
But now I need to worry. Because if I want to make this a marketable manuscript I need to face my structural issues. And I can’t face my structural issues until I have a finished version of the manuscript. And by finished version, I mean, of course, a draft. And so I count and schedule and push myself.
Where are you?