and ramblings on everything in between
Where I thought my word count would be: 23,000
Where I am: 31,059
I have found the key to unblocking your brain and uncramping your hands when they both refuse to write any more. Spontaneous, wildly terrible, and obnoxious dance parties. This, my friend, is the answer.
When I need a break, I play a pop song and go crazy down the hallway. It’s freeing, it’s liberating, it’s embarrassing (good thing I live alone). But it works. It reminds me to stop taking myself and my writing so seriously. I’ve learned that when you start to take something too seriously, you suck the fun right out of it. Loosen up. Stretch your legs. Dance with me, people.
This weekend I had a visitor stay with me, and she became my writing buddy by default. It was nice to have someone to bounce ideas off of.
“Is 3,000 words of straight dialogue too much? Too little?”
“Should Missy invite Eldon over for chicken and dumplings or roast beef?”
The question is, if a mid-month meltdown doesn’t seize me in the next four days, can I fake it? Don’t think for one second that I’ve forgotten about the peanut butter filled chocolate bits of heaven that are in the closet I never use that is blocked by a piece of furniture for when I crack. I can hear them call my name each time I walk past the door.
“Ashlee,” they whisper, “you’re melting…”