Words: zero down, 1400 to go
Caffeine: morning cup + midmorning cappuccino
Evil Calories: enormous, herculean cookie from Starbucks
Reality TV: (when the hell is The Office & 30 Rock coming back?)
I hate word count. I hate relying on word count. I hate trying to figure out word count. I hate keeping track of word count. I hate that word count lingers in the back of my mind while I’m writing. I hate the words "word count". Dear word count - you totally stomp and squish the creative process. You force me to wade in the minutia. Do you not know me but at all? I’m the scattered one, remember? We’ve gone over this. I’m not a good candidate for OCD. Shiny things distract me. I’m not focused. Today I almost dropped my library book in the slot at the post office and for the third time this week I left the house with my slippers on. They’re pink. Not a soothing pink, a screaming, blinding, throwing off satellites kind of pink.
*Insert very long sigh here*
You non-writing types probably didn’t know this, but when you submit a book, it isn’t based on pages. It’s based on...you guessed it, word count. Average book: 80,000 words. My first book at completion was 120,000 words. Editing it was like plucking my arm hairs one by one using the teeth of an angry badger. So for this book, I’m mindful. Keep track of word count. By 20,000 be here in the story. By 50,000 be here. But it’s all making me want to stick my finger in my eye and swirl it around until I reach my brain.