418 words. And ground out is what they were, while resisting that almost irresistable desire, etc. Ugh. But it's progress. I showed up, I was present, I practiced. I'm hoping that tomorrow I will feel a little more flexible, rather than stiff from today's effort.
2 comments:
I know what you're saying, but showing up is most of it, and practicing, and being present. That's more than a page!
"...I hate writing. I suffer the tortures of the damned. I can't sleep and it feels like I'm going to die any minute. Eventually I lock myself away somewhere, out of reach of a gun, and get it on in one big push. I've always been around writers and had friends who were writers, but I'd never realized what a lot of goddamned anguish is involved."
-- Sam Peckinpah, from Sam Peckinpah: interviews by Kevin J. Hayes
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