There’s the challenge of money.
I mentioned before that I was having a difficult time keeping track of my actual hours that I’ve been writing, so I decided to do a word count instead. I hadn’t really started heavily getting into the writing part till the 3rd of October and that was a very productive weekend as far as word count goes. I decided to make a week Monday to Sunday. I was hoping to keep increasing on the number of words I wrote a day but some days I just don’t seem to have it in me as much as others. I have not once this week reached my 7,000 number that I had last Saturday but I have been averaging about 2,000-3,000 words a day. What’s this mean? I have no idea, I really don’t, some tactic I’ve devised to make me believe I’m accomplishing something I guess. So on with the tactic: This week I’ve managed to write a total of 22,099 words and adding that to the first weekend that puts me at about 39,108 at words. My only sense of what that means is based on the National Novel Writing Month. They have it figured at about 50,000 for the entire month and that will give a person a short novel of I think around 200 pages. Using that guide for the past ten days I’ve already hit the half way mark. What’s that mean to me? Again not sure just some tactic. I have finished the second draft of nine of my sections, that I broke down earlier but I have 25 more to go. It feels daunting. Which is a shame really because I actually do enjoy it when I’m working.
It’s all about money really. I spoke with my father the other day who I had to spend ten minutes justifying writing a book that wasn’t a genre like romance or thriller. He kept saying, “so what kind of book is it then.” I’d say, “it’s a book about people about people trying to live their lives in another country it’s just about people.” This came after already giving the synopsis of the story, “person goes to this foreign place meets old and new friends all on a quest to find self.” Seems typical to me. Then he says, “doesn’t sound like you have any action.” It’s frustrating because all the books I’ve read and loved don’t ever have a lot of action. There may be love and death but it’s never with pirate ships and car crashes they’re just about people. But that wasn’t his only damper the other was about how I needed to find real work. I said, “I am working the book is work.” He said, “I mean something you get paid for.” And that was just it. The whole thing in a nutshell; what I’m doing isn’t considered work and it’s not considered something worth getting paid for. At least not for me.
It plagues me. I wake up every morning thinking I need to get a job. Get a real job. I have to convince myself everyday that this is worth while that this is something I do deserve to get paid for. I’m writing a book. A good book. I want to be a writer that’s what I want to do, but I have to convince myself, and not because I don’t think I have the talent, hell there are a lot of talentless people out there selling their stuff, no, it’s because I don’t think I deserve it. It’s horrible to feel so defeated all the time to have to convince yourself every morning that what your doing is worth getting paid for. It’s hard not to feel the reality caving in because, you know, my dad’s right, my money is running out, and there is a shitty economy and I will need to get a job. Right now, no one is going to buy this unfinished book. Still I just need to finish it, just the second draft before I have to go back to nine to five, just the second draft.
And that’s what the word count is about a measured amount that tells me I’m working. You know, like a writer.