You can tell a great deal about my productivity based on the state of my home. If my apartment is tidy, the laundry put away, and the dishes washed and other boring activities completed, I’m having a crappy day, writing-wise.
My week-long holiday has left my apartment in a shambles. My husband finally got frustrated and removed a bunch of empty coffee cups from my desk a couple of days ago, the only sign of his irritation at our place looking like a cyclone hit it. And yes, I again forgot about the blood test I mentioned in my last blog entry (I’ll go this week, I swear it!).
It was an effing fantastic week.
I finished the second draft of Celestial Chaos, which exceeds my original word count of 70,000 by a few thousand words. I wrote 38,518 words over six days, finishing it in the wee hours of this morning, around 5 a.m. (which I then excitedly tweeted, ate a mini powdered sugar donut to celebrate, and promptly passed out). At this point, I have to tweak a few things, send copies to my beta readers, and finally the cleanest copy I can produce on my own to my editor.
I didn’t know I could write nearly 40,000 words in a week. I’m not sure I want to do it again. Right now, I’m operating on very little sleep—during my final, frantic writing session last night/this morning, I wrote almost 11,000 words in the space of six or seven hours—and I’m exhausted, mentally and physically. I’d glad I did it; few things make you feel as good as completing a novel, but I don’t usually push myself the way I have over the last week. It’s been this whole book, actually. I didn’t sit up all night, over-caffeinated from too much instant coffee, when I wrote Supernova. I think I crossed the line from “excellent work ethic” to “workaholism” during this book.
But…it’s damn near finished. YES! That takes a huge load off my shoulders.
Now, I’m off for some deep, restorative sleep, and hopefully my eyeballs won’t hurt in the morning. Good night, all.