Words: 1,751 (total: 14,760)
Aaaaaand we’ll call it there. Are there another 250 words I could scrounge up somewhere? Yes. But we’re going to prioritize sleep, because I’m cognizant of the fact that I wrote to you just this morning on this very topic.
Let the record show that I did actually write in the afternoon today, but that was only [checks notes] the first 860 words, and apparently I just don’t know when to quit, because when I finally stopped moving today I genuinely thought “but there’s more words there! I want to keep going!”
So after driving up to Vancouver, having a much-needed eye appointment (my eye doctor is a goddess who walks amongst us mere mortals; I love her endlessly), getting new passport photos (they’re terrible, but my driver’s license photo turned out well, so this only feels like the right and just equilibrium of the universe), tracking down a package (actually a very exciting package! Books from Japan!), hunkering down in a coffee shop to write (nowhere as glorious as the Best Bookstore, but it was serviceable), getting another load of things from my storage locker (including, thankfully for our apocalyptic timeline, an air purifier), and driving back to Hallmark Town because it was a) closer and b) less smoky than Seattle, I… wrote more.
It’s got me thinking about how this experiment has been interesting insofar as how it’s confirmed that my primary form of motivation is relational. I never had an issue showing up as a stage manager, because I knew people were counting on me. Likewise in tech, if my team or company needed it, I got it done. It’s when I’m only accountable to myself that my motivation gets messy, which is why doing this out in the open works so well.
It reminds me of a conversation that I had with Matt back in Tokyo, when I was talking about how I prefer to work in coworking spaces or cafes, rather than at home. He’d asked why, and I’d explained:
“Because if I slack off and procrastinate, then I feel like all the other people are judging me.”
“…They’re really not. You know that, right?”
“I know, but don’t tell me that!”
I know, when I’m writing to you, that you don’t particularly care how many words I’ve written in a day. If I show up and say “I needed to sleep,” or “I was too busy,” then the vast majority of you will simply take that at face value and move on with your days. I know I would, if a friend told me that. “You need to take care of yourself!” I’d say. “Self-care is important!” But the thing is, I still don’t want to show up and tell you that I didn’t write.
And independently of not wanting to not have written, I also actively want to write this book. (Those are two separate things in my mind, I swear.) So I’m at peace with the fact that 2,000 words is a stretch goal, but I’m happy to reach for it, day after day, because it feels good to.
For instance, a new character walked onto the page today. Fully formed side character, simply announcing his existence. I love it when they do that, and I wouldn’t have been there for that moment if I hadn’t been sitting in a coffee shop, just trying to get some more words on the page.
Am I going to need to take some more rest days here and there? Sure. Am I going to have days where I fall short of my goal? Sure. But if there’s anything reading back through The Owl Hours has armed me with, it’s a certainty that I never regret having tried. Case in point: almost none of the flash fiction on the site would’ve existed if I hadn’t been trying to write a story every day. Did I fall short of that goal? Often! Did I write some aggressively mediocre fiction as a result of that effort? Lots! Did I feel like a failure a lot of the time when I was trying to do that project? Yes!
Am I still glad I did it? A hundred percent.
So if I could go back in time to the Mara who was writing those, I’d say: hey, hitting your arbitrary target isn’t the point. Go for it, if it feels good — but the point here is the practice. Don’t talk to me about if the words are good or not; if there’s enough of them or not; if you’ve managed to do it daily or not. Just. Show. Up.
Because if I’ve learned anything lately, it’s that showing up — no matter how uncomfortable or exhausting — always feels better than not. Life is painful, but refusing to live it is more so, and I’m hoping this experiment will drill that knowledge into my bones.
And what a privilege, really, to get to swing for the things that matter to me. Life doesn’t always grant us these moments. In fact, I’m starting to suspect they’re rather rare: those times when the universe turns to you and says “next round is yours, if you want to bat it.”
Turns out, I want to step up to the plate.
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