Glut, glut, glut.
I am trying to be candid here.
I have too many words.
Not counting finished drafts, I have somewhere around 230K of unfinished business. This is either work in process (currently I am writing two separate books) or words that need to be edited. This morning I thought I’d total it up, for reasons of amusement. But now? Looking at it I’ve got to wonder what the hell it is I’m getting at.
This started when I got frustrated editing a first draft. Then I decided to do something else; which lead to something else… which means, ah, what the hell?
Self: Stop this grumblefest. You need to look on the bright side.
Glutty McGlutterson: Wha? Like, the fact that I’m writing and that’s something and I should keep my chin up, buster, and dance with rainbows and dragons and flying horses?
Self: Um, no, not exactly. Since when have I ever called you buster?
McGlut: Ugh, you always do this.
Self: Do what? Force you to accentuate the positive?
McGlut: I’m going to start calling you Pollyanna.
Self: Seriously. Remember that 10,000 hours thing? You’re being a writer. Not an editor. So you’re writing.
McGlut: I can scarcely think where to go.
Self: You were on a roll.
McGlut: *sigh* That peksy past-tense.
Self: Oh, grow up! Just sit your ass down and write. Stop complaining. You are a professional.
McGlut: A professional word-vomiter.
Self: Better than the other way.
McGlut: … true.
Self: Consider the current project. Marketable, single person narrative… just focus on that. The rest will come. Or it won’t. And you’ll drown to death in words.
McGlut: *glub, glub, glub*