So I was expecting to sit down and write a post today saying ‘this is the worst month for word count I’ve had in ages’. Two days where I got more than just 1K and both were 1,1XX days. Heck I wrote 1,050 words today so it’s not like I am out of the woods just yet. But in the interests of speaking with facts, I took a look at my past monthly totals, and in doing so I spotted something more than a little telling. I have now been back at home for coming up on two months. I’ve finally found some form of rhythm, and I am exhausted, so my totals have flattened out.
Back in June, I’d been moved in with my grandparents for two months, having made the leap at the end of March. I’d just about found some rhythm even if I was still struggling, and by that point I was burning out and plateaued. I looked it up, my word counts for June match close enough day-for-day with September. So rather than feeling downcast by this slowdown, I’m starting to realise it means I’m at long last regaining some kind of control of my life. I’m exhausted, but I have a road map, all my tasks organised, and I can do this. And, I have 17,000 words of a new novel to help guide me through it too.
There’s just one thing left to do today. And that, is to send my landlord a picture of my oven. Because I was meant to do that a while ago. February. Yeah did I mention I’ve been in freefall for a while?