The fascinating thing about the speed at which I tend to work is the way that I always feel like I'm not getting anything done. To quote Amy, "Even though Superman can move super-fast, time feels the same for him as it does for everybody else." So while my idea of a 'slow day' may look like some other people's idea of 'so productive I wouldn't be able to move for a week,' the agonies of feeling like I've been goofing off are just as severe for me as they are for everybody else.

I get scolded for this periodically, since I tend to get frustrated and whine. Another friend likened it to that lady who only needs to lose five pounds, yet complains every time she accidentally ingests a calorie. To which I can only note that those five pounds may mark the end of a two hundred pound journey. I'm as fast as I am because I've always ridden myself to move faster, move cleaner, and get more done.

Watching other people at work is truly a fascinating thing for me, because they're chasing the same end through methods which are, quite often, entirely foreign. This is also why I say that there's no 'one true way' to write, beyond the part where all writing eventually needs to involve putting words on paper. (Although even that's questionable, since I know people who've composed and memorized stories and poetry without every writing anything down. If they perform it the same way every time, isn't it still something they wrote? Oral tradition and the rise of podcasting as a method of getting stories out there are changing 'wrote' to mean more than just the act of physically recording words on a page.)

Lilly is ecstatic about the fact that I'm writing again; she feels that my adoration of the strange clicky-box is paid for by the fact that when I'm adoring it, I tend to sit still for long periods of time, thus giving myself ample time to pet the cat. I think she senses that the ailing health of my older feline means something, but hasn't yet put together the connection between 'Nyssa isn't doing well' and 'Mommy keeps looking at pictures of Siamese kittens on the clicky-box screen.'

Won't she be surprised? And, as a secondary question, how does writing work for you?

Current stats:

Words: 3,797.
Total words: 16,670.
Reason for stopping: chapter five is closed and done.
Music: mostly salsa music, actually.
Lilly: sacked out on the bed.

I've managed to break fifty pages (and then some -- the book is currently at sixty-one pages), introduce pretty much all my major characters and supporting family members, work in several scenes involving hyperactive religious mice, and drop Verity off several buildings. (This statement is not really a spoiler, as dropping Verity off buildings is currently one of my favorite occupations. It's soothing.)

My mother thinks this series may be the best thing I've ever come up with. I blame this on the fact that she's a huge fan of several reality-based dance competitions, and I use a reality-based dance competition in the series. (Book five is actually set at a reunion of the cast from Verity's year. Yeah, it's already acquired a book five. Don't look at me like that.)

Next up, I start beating people about the head and shoulders with plot, and probably throw Verity off a few more buildings. Life is good.