Earlier in the week I challenged myself to write 1,000 words as fast as I could type on each of my two mysteries. No pauses, no editing, don’t even think too much. Just type like mad.
I averaged 40wpm on each of them. Less than 30 minutes each to add another 1,000 words. While I only commit to 15 minutes of writing each day, I have a target of 1,000 words per novel.
One hour to do all the writing I needed to do for the day. Not bad.
Yesterday didn’t go so well.
I’ve set up a new computer in the downstairs office. Tired of lugging the laptop up and down, plugging and unplugging and all that. Simple to set up a computer these days. Most of my work is online. I use plenty of free tools. The computer went quite well.
But I want some music to listen to. I have my phone, packed with music, but I’ve got two huge (1TB) external hard drives upstairs. Why not copy the 70GB of music to the spare drive and bring it down?
This is what Resistance says to you when you’re a music nut and computer geek who’s supposed to be writing.
The USB hub I’m using has glitches. Or one of the drives does. Anyway, it took hours to delete things to make room. As I was fighting with that stuff I also copied the writing files from the desktop to my thumb drive so I could bring them downstairs.
Fuss fuss. Copy. Delete. Move. Copy. Delete. Restart. Up the stairs down the stairs up the stairs.
Finally gave up on getting the music drive done today and came down to write. Opened the thumb drive, and there was no file dated yesterday.
Went back upstairs to get it off the desktop and it was gone. Not surprising, since I’d deleted it.
But in order to clear space on the external drives, you can’t just delete the files. You have to empty Windows’ Recycle Bin. Which I had done.
So the desktop copy of the file was gone.
But there was no file on the thumb drive dated yesterday.
And it wasn’t in the writing folder on the external drive.
There was no file named with yesterday’s date anywhere.
Best Beloved was off hauling the Little One from one school to another school (she only goes out once a week, and sees two teachers at two different schools. I only share this to delay the rest of the story.) so since I was alone it wasn’t even worth crying since there was no one to pat my shoulder and say there there, you wrote it once you can write it again. Also, don’t say that. Not to a writer. They will wallop you.
Anyway, what I’d written yesterday was in the file dated for the day before. I’d saved it all under the old name, that’s all.
End result: no writing lost, but it took me 5 hours to write the 1,000 words on Into the Fog and right now I’m writing this instead of 1,000 words on A Long Hard Look.
Welcome to the twisted world of Resistance.
What do you find yourself doing instead of writing, even when that’s what you said you were going to do?