It’s been a weird week — the kid’s doctor visit, mid-week trip to the zoo, being awake in the middle of the night with the aforementioned kid the other night, and etc. I’ve been feeling generally discombobulated and unproductive all week, with my evenings spent mostly playing Batman: Arkham Asylum and watching DVDs with the wife (United States of Tara, Californication) and reading some K.J. Parker and William Gibson and assorted graphic novels.
This is bad, because I have simply epic levels of work I need to do — like, I need to produce 80-90,000 words in the next two months. If I can write 20,000 words this weekend, I’ll be where I want to be… but that’s unlikely. I’m hoping to write 10K. But I don’t know if I’ll manage it. I’ve been in deep denial, I think, about this upcoming deadline. I’ve been doing some other work — wrote a story last weekend, and have been doing some anthology stuff I can’t really talk about yet — but I haven’t touched the novel in weeks. That has to stop. Or, rather, I have to start. I’ve never missed a deadline for a book — I’ve never even been late — and I don’t intend for this to be the first one. It’s a bit daunting. It’ll be less so once I build some momentum and start getting some words down. I’ve just slipped out of the groove, I think. Anyway — wish me luck. (Especially since I want to revise my middle grade novel this weekend, too, because I’ve been procrastinating on that, and will work better on my big project if I clear the decks first.)