‘Tis actually a horrible name for the blog post, ’cause the writing thing doesn’t actually feel much like toil this week. Not even yesterday when it took me seven hours, total, to get fifteen hundred words down across two projects. There is probably toil coming though – there’s a Flotsam deadline looming in nine and a half days – but for the moment I get to skip through the word mines surrounded by bone-white moths and singing ravens and tinkling silver bells whose chimes echo strangely in the dark and shady corners. Plus I have Leonard Cohen CDs on, which is always a source of the happy.
One day I will remember that the cure for not-writing is writing, rather than having to relearn that lesson every time I stop.
I recently chatted to a friend of mine who enjoys the discussion of toil on the blog, watching the numbers stack up and the reports of work done come in. I know other people who are utterly opposed to seeing such things, preferring blogs to be more than just the accumulating of wordcount. I honestly don’t really know where I stand – I often wish I could do more, writing one of those online blogs that are broad in scope and capable of depth – but the truth of the matter is that I was first drawn to blogs because it allowed me to track my favourite writers doing their thing. In public. With occasional commentary.
For what it’s worth, folks who don’t enjoy the discussion of toil may wish to avoid this blog until April 2nd. The inimitable Jason Fischer and I have uttered one of the forbidden words – gauntlet – and quietly started naming tasks that need be done by March 31st. By mid-February I’m largely going to be posting wordcounts and the words “fists of fucking steel” as I try to get things done.