The post-it note's text (At some point, inertia takes over) was actually for another purpose entirely, but I thought it kinda fit, so I left it on the desk.
Week Three. Somewhere around 34000 words. 138 pages into my composition book.
I'm doing better than Week Two, mostly because I've accepted the fact that the honeymoon is over, and the best way to make progress is to strap myself in my highchair (metaphorically speaking) and not let me up until I've written for an hour or three pages or whatever my current goal is, no matter how much I scream and cry and sulk (metaphorically speaking). (Mostly.)
Going to a coffee house or some such thing can be helpful, since I have no option for walking over to stare at the computer every thirty seconds. However, this has its own set of drawbacks. Those of you who follow me on twitter (eliz_herreid) witnessed my mini-meltdown over coffee house lighting and wobbly tables.
The excuses we can come up with, no? But life goes on. This morning I gritted my teeth and sat down at the coffee-house-down-the-street and wrote about a thousand words despite funky shadows, a napkin-propped table, and giant sucking plot holes.
Pretty sure I'll make 50k this year. Whether I'll make something of this story, however, remains to be seen.
Repeat after me: this is just a first draft. This is just a first draft. This is just a FIRST draft.