Oh chapter, do you really need a book?
Apr. 3rd, 2013 11:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
desperanceOut of nowhere, I just suddenly want to be writing a book in which I can use for a chapter title "In which we do not, to the marriage of true minds, admit impediment*."
That's all. And no, I am not going to do it. I am already way behind on everything; I have three novels and two novellae to finish, and more to write after that, and no strategy for that level of creative burn. I've been in California a year now, and I still can't find a modus operandi that yields steady and regular results. Iain used to write a book in weeks, hammer hammer, 3K words a day till it was done. Every writer's process is notoriously different, and mine has always been a matter of spikes and slumps; the middle volume of Outremer I wrote in ten weeks (there was the little matter of a deadline coming up), and Desdaemona likewise (there was a race, which I technically lost, but hey), but Shelter took me nine months to write my shortest novel, barely a page or two a day. And this last year? I have not written a novel. And yes, I know: marriage, emigration, whole new world, yadda yadda. And yet. No book. No strategy to make a book, just constant new starts and no application. I depress myself. I probably depress you too. Sorry 'bout that. I do keep wanting to do something about it.
*Yes, I am aware that the common reading of the sonnet gives "impediments". My reading is better. That Shakespeare, man. He just so needed an editor, viz me.
That's all. And no, I am not going to do it. I am already way behind on everything; I have three novels and two novellae to finish, and more to write after that, and no strategy for that level of creative burn. I've been in California a year now, and I still can't find a modus operandi that yields steady and regular results. Iain used to write a book in weeks, hammer hammer, 3K words a day till it was done. Every writer's process is notoriously different, and mine has always been a matter of spikes and slumps; the middle volume of Outremer I wrote in ten weeks (there was the little matter of a deadline coming up), and Desdaemona likewise (there was a race, which I technically lost, but hey), but Shelter took me nine months to write my shortest novel, barely a page or two a day. And this last year? I have not written a novel. And yes, I know: marriage, emigration, whole new world, yadda yadda. And yet. No book. No strategy to make a book, just constant new starts and no application. I depress myself. I probably depress you too. Sorry 'bout that. I do keep wanting to do something about it.
*Yes, I am aware that the common reading of the sonnet gives "impediments". My reading is better. That Shakespeare, man. He just so needed an editor, viz me.