I almost didn't write anything yesterday. I told myself that one day without writing wouldn't hurt, might even do some good.
That may be true, in some cases. Walking away from a project to get some perspective might be just the ticket... on another day. On a day when my brain isn't screaming at me to get to it, and the story isn't sitting there, so ready to be put on paper. The lazy part of me wasn't interested in the work, or the love I have for it.
"What if, doing the work, reaching the word count everyday, leads to me getting burned out?" I don't see that happening.
Yes, I set the word count almost like an assignment. It's a goal for me, a way to gauge my daily steps. And somehow, my human brain has made that goal seem like a grind. Even though I love to sit in front of this screen and watch the white pages float away under the haze of paragraphs, something in me says that the goal I've set is too much like homework.
It's ridiculous, really. I love what I'm doing, crave it, and think about doing it whenever I'm not. And yet, there is still the urge to blow it off, watch tv, and do it tomorrow instead.
Guess what, lazy voice in my head. I will do it tomorrow, just like I did it yesterday and will do it today.