You know the joke about how you eat an elephant? One bite at a time? That’s how I’ve heard people talk about finishing a novel.
So, I set a goal to write at least 300 words a day. Because it’s achievable even if it’s midnight and I still haven’t started yet. In fact, I’ve only missed one day this month. (Though even then, I wrote 300 words about writing to figure out where I was taking the story so I counted it.)
I know I’ll get to ‘the end’ eventually. But I still can’t quite figure out how.
Not because I can’t keep up the pace of 300 words a day, but because I can’t manage the rollercoaster of emotions I go through when I’m writing something I don’t feel good about in the moment. You know, the point when you’re ready to light your laptop on fire and throw it out the window in a white-hot rage? (Or, just delete the file from your computer—but that doesn’t feel big enough.)
I seem to go through those phases daily.
One minute I’m plugging away, ready to take my character through her own personal hell. And the next, I have no idea what’s supposed to happen, who the supporting characters are, or how to escape the mastermind villain behind it all.
It’s different with short stories because they’re either for something specific—and therefore come with certain constraints I can work around and external pressure to finish—or aren’t furthering my career—and can therefore take me 2+ years to write as I wait to forget how much I hate what’s on the page.
But now that I’m trying to finish a novel-length story, I’m at a loss. 300 words a day simultaneously feels too slow and the only length I can feasibly achieve right now. It’s too much story to hold in my head at once. I don’t know where I’m going with it and I’m intimidated by such a daunting task.
Then I remember that it’s only 300 words. And I get back to work.
(# Of words I wrote for my manuscript today: 304)