Day 103/Day 11: Making Progress

A couple of days ago, I realized I was at that point. The shit or get off the pot point. If I want to get this book finished, I need to step it up. Who has the luxury of working for an hour and spending the rest of the day examining blackheads in the mirror?

Not that I was doing that, but still.

There's a certain work ethic that goes along with kicking ass in life. And it goes with a commitment to finishing things, rather than leaving them half-done and half-assed. Rather than leaving them for later or for someone else. There's no way around this. Nor should there be.

I realized the number of chapters I had was pretty much the same as the number of days left in the month. Which means finishing a chapter a day if I want to get this bad bitch done on time.

A chapter a day.

Sounds intimidating and it is.

I've only done two, but so far, so good. Because even though every day feels like I'm starting from scratch, I've actually done one hell of a lot of work on this thing. My chapters are farther along than I thought and I'm mostly filling in, fleshing out and pulling things together. Part of me would actually call what I'm working on a Second Draft. But the part that's wary of putting the cart before the horse is calling it a Diligent First.

This is very, very exciting, but I'm feeling cautious right now. I'm only just starting and there are fifteen-plus chapters to go. There's a good chance I'll finish this and hate it. But still, these past two days have been affirming.

It felt like I hadn't gotten anywhere in the past four months. I'd look up and it would seem like I hadn't moved, stuck in the same formless quicksand I started with. And now, I see the forward progress and it's moving faster than I thought, but I don't want to jinx it, so I'm trying not to notice.

I really hope I remember this. I hope I remember it's worth it to do the work little by little, chipping away at things day by day. That it doesn't seem like anything is happening and then all of a sudden, it is.

And I don't know if this is connected, but I wouldn't be surprised if it is: Paris has started calling me again. I was beginning to get worried. I thought we might actually no longer be friends because the silence there was deafening. But we're friends. She's calling. She's telling me I was only in the city for a month last time and have since lost a lot of the detail. I've forgotten the smells. The push and pull of connection and alienation. The way language can exhaust you.

She says for my second draft I need to come back and pay closer attention. Notice the things I couldn't see when I was blinded by that first flush. By trying to keep afloat. She says, Come back and let yourself drown. Remember what it's like, only this time, push it further.