Tuesday round-up

[desperance]

It's not noon yet, and I haven't written a damn thing today (see previous post, under 'insomnia' - I didn't make it out of bed till 8.30, and my back hurts, as it often does after a night of unsleeping), but I'm just going to log this and go.

It really hasn't been a good week. I have a plethora of excuses - copy edit, play, sickness, meetings, Lord alone knows what else - but the facts remain:

89,924 / 90,000 (99.9%)

(Y'know, if I'd done the sums before I started this update, I might've paused to write those extra 76 words, just to take me to that putative target. But nah, I don't deserve them.)

In pages, a slightly less fatuous prediction (tho' one I shall still exceed, I fancy):

279 / 300 (93.0%)

So that's 9734 words for the week. And I still have to finish the copy-edit, which is today and tomorrow; and then I'm away to Derby on Thursday, for a Phantoms gig. Back Friday, and with luck there should be some writing-time after that. But no, we do not feel good.

Mind you, harpies, this week. I wasn't expecting the harpies.

Comments

[desperance.livejournal.com]

So would I have done, any year but this year. Any book but this book (oh, and the last). I've just been assimilated into this high-achiever crowd, y'know? And I feel I have to keep my end up.

[Exit, muttering "A peak is not a target, a peak is not a target..."]