Contemplating Saturdays
Aug. 28th, 2004 10:32 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
queenoftheskiesAll week, I look forward to the weekends, so I can write more, so I can read more, and then, when Saturday comes, it's often my least productive day of the week. Very frustrating.
It seems like I do everything but write, and while I realize a lot of it is an effort to relax and try to recoup the brain cells I lost due to stress during the week, it still frustrates the hell out of me to feel like I wasted an entire day that I could have put to use writing.
Some days, like today, when I finally get going, it's already so late when I start writing that I get nowhere near as much written as I could have had I started earlier. Not to mention the fact that I write utter crap. And, while I can't say that my writing is exceptional under the best of circumstances, it takes a definite turn for the worse when I write too late at night.
I end up with pages that I'm displeased with and, if I'm displeased with them, I feel like I wasted my time. It's all a vicious cycle.
Tonight, I managed to write 1,037 words on The Beginning of the End, which is up to 165 pages now. I'd hoped to add some to Under the Desert Moon, which still languishes at 24 pages, but I just didn't have the creativity for smut tonight.
Maybe tomorrow.
Famous last words. That's what I always say.
It seems like I do everything but write, and while I realize a lot of it is an effort to relax and try to recoup the brain cells I lost due to stress during the week, it still frustrates the hell out of me to feel like I wasted an entire day that I could have put to use writing.
Some days, like today, when I finally get going, it's already so late when I start writing that I get nowhere near as much written as I could have had I started earlier. Not to mention the fact that I write utter crap. And, while I can't say that my writing is exceptional under the best of circumstances, it takes a definite turn for the worse when I write too late at night.
I end up with pages that I'm displeased with and, if I'm displeased with them, I feel like I wasted my time. It's all a vicious cycle.
Tonight, I managed to write 1,037 words on The Beginning of the End, which is up to 165 pages now. I'd hoped to add some to Under the Desert Moon, which still languishes at 24 pages, but I just didn't have the creativity for smut tonight.
Maybe tomorrow.
Famous last words. That's what I always say.
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