Sunday was not as productive as I would have liked. To tell the truth, neither day this weekend was particularly mile consuming or memorable. Though I completed a few things, wrote not a few word, it was not enough. I hunger for me.

I d/l-ed a program, Freedom, that helps me control my wild spur-of-the-moment and guild less internet forays that eat up so much time…

I wrote a couple thousand words…

I received my end-of-the-NaNo reward from Amazon. The book, Harry Potter: Page to Screen: The Complete Film Making Journey, sits on my drum table still wrapped in cellophane awaiting my success…

I caught up on my blogging transferring journal notes to the internet, for what I am not sure…

I read part of the Dec/Nov edition of Poets & Writers…

I wrote to some of my Writing Buddies and added a new one…

I changed my mind and decided not to attend a local Write-In on Sunday…

I researched personality types and zodiac sign profiles for Scions of the Moon characters…

I learned how to more confidently navigate Scrivener…

I cooked a crock pot full of split-pea and ham…

I changed my clock…

…basically, I did far, far too much and definitely not enough…not even close.

I am discouraged.

Why write at all?

“All these truths and quasi-truths…about publishing are finally ephemeral…. What is demanding and fulfilling is writing a single word, trying to write le mot juste, as Flaubert said; writing several of them, which become a sentence. When a writer does that, day after day, working alone with little encouragement, often with discouragement flowing in the writer’s own blood, and with an occasional rush of excitement…the treasure is on the desk. If the manuscript itself, mailed out to the world, where other truths prevail, is never published, the writer will suffer bitterness, sorrow, anger and more dangerously, despair…. But the writer who endures and keeps working will finally know that writing the book is something hard and glorious, for at the desk a writer must try to be free of prejudice, meanness of spirit, pettiness, and hatred; strive to be a better human being than the writer normally is, and to do this through concentration on a single word, and then another, and another. This is splendid work, as worthy and demanding as any, and the will and resilience to do it are good for the writer’s soul. –Andre Durbus, “First Books”

Ohhhh…I just need a goodnight’s sleep 😛

Originally posted in The Salamander’s Quill 1.0 now deleted.