thoughtfulThere are only two speeds. "Stop" and "go." This is why it's taken so long for my foot to heal; once I can move again, I move, running hard toward the horizon because otherwise, it might move before I can get there.
Being a two-speed creature is not always ideal. I strip my own gears a lot. Exhausted collapse is not uncommon. But when everything's working, I can almost break the laws of physics, and for me, it's a worthwhile cost/benefit structure. I'll run, and when I fall, the ground will catch me, over and over again, until I don't get back up. And that, too, is a portion of the price that comes with how I'm wired.
I have people periodically look at my inchworm lists and wonder how the hell I can do the things I do. The answer is a combination of practice and planning. Every day has to be accounted for, because I'm moving too fast to cut corners; if I slow down enough to back it up, I'll drown.
In my dayplanner, I keep a running list of the day's tasks, including target (minimum) project word counts. Writing-related tasks on today's list are as follows:
1. 2,000 words, "Not Sincere" (Indexing #10)
2. 1,000 words, "Loch and Key" (InCryptid, J&F short)
3. Process edits (two files pending at time of this entry)
Note that #1 and #2 will not stop at the exact minimum; usually, I'll have overrun of somewhere between 100 and 2,000 words over the course of a night, depending on when my bedtime is and what point I've reached in the story. At the same time, if I hit that precise minimum, I stay on target.
Separately, on a notepad, I keep my progressive word counts list. This is just a sheet of paper that reads:
6/5 - 2,000/3,000
6/6 - 4,000/4,000
6/7 - 6,000/5,000
6/8 - 8,000[LOCK]/6,000
6/9 - 76,000/7,000
...and so on down the line. That's showing the current word counts of projects in the #1 and #2 positions—so "Not Sincere," which I'm starting tonight, should have a value of 2,000 words before I go to bed, and when I go back to The Winter Long on 6/9, that first day's work should bring the book to a minimum of 76,000 words. [LOCK] signifies a project's projected removal from the list. Every morning, I cross off the totals that have been reached. If I "wrap" the next goal—say, "Not Sincere" hits 6,000 words on 6/6, because I'm so excited—then I completely rewrite the list, advancing everything by one day (8,000 words on 6/7, changing projects on 6/8, etc.). This is because it's always better to be ahead of target: it allows me to do things like "attend a friend's birthday party" and "sleep in on a Sunday" when I earn enough breathing room.
It's hard. I don't pretend that it's not. But there's something comforting in having constant, manageable milestones: if I can write 2,000 words a day for fifty days, I have a 100,000 word book. Not too shabby, all things considered.
This is the terrible secret of Seanans:
We never really stop.
June 6 2013, 06:59:06 UTC 4 years ago
The Secret of Seanans\
(ttto: "Tigger's Song")
The terrible secret of Seanans
Is Seanans don't know how to stop.
Their drives are on permanent hyper;
Their brakes are all stuck in the shop.
They're busy busy busy busy
(not too much for FUN),
But the most terrible secret of Seanans is
That we...have only ONE!
The terrible secret of Seanans
Is Seanans are wondrously mad.
They gift us with elves and with zombies
And songs that are cheerful and sad.
They're busy busy busy busy
(not too much for FUN)
But the most terrible secret of Seanans is
That we...have only ONE!
Seanans have ponies that sparkle;
Seanans are fast on their feet;
And we who love Seanans remark-le*
[Yes, I know that isn't a word. Try telling that to the Tigger-muse I'm channeling here.]
The truth that we have to repeat:
The terrible secret of Seanans
Is Seanans don't know how to stop
Their drives are on permanent hyper
Their brakes are all stuck in the shop
They're busy busy busy busy
(not too much for FUN)
But the most terrible secret of Seanans is
That we...have only ONE!
June 15 2013, 21:54:04 UTC 4 years ago
June 16 2013, 03:41:36 UTC 4 years ago
Since I neglected to insert it this time, all I'd request is that the archived copy should include my full name as lyricist (thus "words by John C. Bunnell, 2013"). And in the happy event that someone does sing something of mine in a filk circle that someone else happens to be recording (hey, I can dream!), I'd be grateful if a copy of the recording found its way to me.