Don't Mind Me. Just Writin' a Novel in My Car.

It's weird how sometimes adversity will totally derail my writing, and sometimes it'll make just make me more determined to succeed. I've been such a whinypants lately about my cold, the snow, and the demands of motherhood conspiring to attack my word count. But while all that stuff really was going on, I think my less than stellar February has more to do with the Mid-Novel blues than any external factors.

But now I'm on a roll. The last few days the writing has gotten better and easier and more every day. And then I come to today, which has been ripe with excuses not to write. I had my first night at tutoring gig #2 last night, got to bed late and then had terrible insomnia, so I'm operating on a major sleep deficit. I just got my period and am in pain. (Side note: Hello, menopause? I'm ready whenever you are.) The Son had gymnastics camp again today, but when I went back to the lovely little coffee shop where I wrote yesterday, they were blaring Harry Connick, jr. (seriously, jazzy standards were not meant to be played at speedmetal decibles) and I knew there was no way I could work there-- and nothing else nearby is open yet at that hour. Then Oberon the laptop started acting up; there's this horrible screeching motor sound when he boots.

A few days ago, I would have said fuck it. But I wrote through the sleep deprivation and the cramps. When the coffee shop was too loud, I drove to library and worked in my car while I waited for it to open, while people walking their dogs gave me WTF looks. When Oberon started freaking out, I transferred the files to the desktop that's still set up in the dining room from my last laptop emergency, and wrote there during quiet play time. And I have 840 words so far today.

If I could just figure out how to be this tenacious about my writing every day, maybe I could finish a novel in less than a decade.