I have not been idle.
This last month I’ve booked thirty plus hours writing short stories, published over on my writing blog. Among them, additional apocalyptic scenarios and other stories meant for online competition, and still other random pieces. No, not idle.
But not decidedly dedicated toward any of my WIPs, either. As if I’m circling them, sword drawn, dagger ready, crouched and eager for their counterattack. “Just try it, you bunch.” “Ha!” they challenge, “You got this all wrong, buddy. It ain’t us that be needin’ the balls to do the attackin’.”
All too true. Those nodules have shrunk and pulled up inside like a prepubescent servant boy facing his first pour at the royal table.
“I’m still honing my skill. You wait ’till my blades are sharp… You just wait.”
When I went to calculate the number of hours for this post: 2287, I chanced a peek back to last year at this time, which stood at about 2100. So, one year and ~180 hours. Not too good. The year prior? The total stood at approximately 1800, calculated to 300 hours spent. Beyond this the numbers get fuzzy, but I’m guessin’ the count stood at 1000—the year before—which means that that year (August ’17 to August ’18) I booked 800 hours.
- Year #4: 180 hrs
- Year #3: 300 hrs
- Year #2: 800 hrs
- Year #1: 1000 hrs (I started this endeavor the summer of 2016.)
Not a good trend.
Now, in my defense, my work-a-day job had been vastly different back in the beginning. In the last two years, however, fewer daytime hours could be “donated” toward my writing process.
Additionally, I dare say that the quality of output has accelerated inversely, counter intuitively, to the number of hours applied. Fewer, yet closely attentive words? But, who is a writer to (accurately) judge their own work?
Regardless, my WIPs taunt me no end. They beg my attention. They deserve better.
Back to work.