I was tired yesterday. So tired, in fact, I almost went to bed without completing my 1,667 word count goal. There I was - looking at the clock and thinking 5:45am would come very early the next morning. The temptation was great. My eyelids were drooping. I stifled a few yawns looking longingly at my bed.
Then that small whisper tickled the back of my mind. Just a few hundred more words to go.
A few hundred. Well, I thought, that's not much. I admit here and now that for some this number would be stifling... thankfully for me, its a drop in the bucket compared to 50k ;)
Right then and there I knew. My decision in that moment would more than likely dictate my attitude for the rest of the month. Things are guaranteed to be busy. I will inevitably overbook myself. I will be tired. I will not want to write. I'll be uninspired. But will I press on? That was the real question.
Well, as you may have gained from the title of this post, I did press on and push passed my tiredness to pen (uh... type?) the last few hundred words to push me just pass my goal for the day.
After I'd closed my laptop and lay there in bed, starting at the ceiling (only 20 minutes passed when I had originally planned to go to bed) I was glad I'd pushed through. I guess that can apply to many areas in life, but that's another post.
So, for those of you following my plight as a writer in the harried month of November, I assure you my novel is well on its way (for it only being Day 2) and shaping up nicely. I'll give you the first few paragraphs for your reading enjoyment.
**Note: I've edited next to nothing on this so its rough, not that pretty, and potentially not that entertaining but I figure if I really want to be a writer I should get used to the idea of people reading my writing, right?
The night was pitch black. If it hadn’t been for the illumination lamps spaced every half mile down the road, there would have been no light in the room at all. The silence saturated the moment, giving Serafin pause. Was this really the best idea?
She pushed that thought to the side and slipped to the end of her bed, grabbing the canvas bag concealed there. She’d escaped into the night a dozen times before, just because she was going further this night didn’t make it any different.
She eased the dorm room door open a fraction of an inch and waited.
She opened it just enough for her slight frame to push through and quickly closed it behind her. The night guard wouldn’t pass by for another twenty minutes, just enough time for her to climb out the window down the hall and make her way to the garages. Waiting only a few seconds, she steeled her nerves and went through with her plan.