Between work and recovery from work, I despair of my chances at hitting 50,000 words by the 30th. Strangely enough, I'm not sure I care. I need to write something. It's in my blood. But I've taken the challenge and won last year, and I'm very good at getting words out of the head without the censor getting in the way.

I don't think I'm the target audience any longer. I don't have enough time to be the target audience.

I know that azwriter is doing this with a house full of kids, both her own trio and the kids she cares for. I know that countless other people are doing this with worse challenges than what I'm facing. I'm not even really up against a challenge. I'm just working full time, and I'm giving myself permission to not drive for the word count and take care of myself so I won't be a burned-out wreck at the end of the month. This is not the sort of month where I can push myself and drive up the word count and rack up guilt if I do things other than write the goddamn thing.

And, honestly, "the goddamn thing" is not how I want to see it.

Work today was surprisingly restful. ( Read more... )

I was smart and got forbidden to stay late so I won't go over 60 hours. On pain of screaming from the office.