I realize that I’m running on nearly empty this week, and I still have three more double shifts to do before I get a one-day break. The life of a temp and taking whatever work I can when offered is definitely taking its toll on me and my creative energy. I could beat myself up about having little time to write and no time to read this week, the first week of my keeping track of my words, but I’ve already done that to myself for years and it’s gotten me exactly nowhere. So instead, I’m celebrating each word I type, even if it’s a silly word like galumping (which I used not once but twice in the snippets I wrote today), and telling myself that those words would never have been written if I hadn’t written them right then. I’m adding those words to my spreadsheet count and knowing that right now, I’m trying to build a habit, a habit of writing every day, even if it’s just a little bit, because, as my spreadsheet shows me every time I open it, I have all these words written that weren’t written before. The narrative isn’t there for a lot of this work. It’s disjointed thoughts, stream of consciousness, and sometimes just plain odd. But they’re my words, and they look good on my computer screen and scribbled in my notebook. They look like the promise of what I know I’m capable of doing if I just sit down and do it. A little bit at a time. The narrative will shape itself soon. My inner storyteller can never hide for too long once I let her out to play. Right now, she’s watching from the sidelines, trying to figure out if she wants to take a turn on the slide or hop on the monkey bars or perhaps knock the tetherball around. It’s a tough choice, so I’m giving her a little space to decide her playground activities. I’ll give her a nudge soon, when I have more than an hour before bed when I’m already wiped out to work on something. But for now, I’ll just write a bunch of words, some of them made up to make me smile, and count them like the little blessings they are.
Short Stories: 0
Grand Total: 3,506