Grass is greener

At the moment I'm trying to force myself to type 80,000 words, more or even more (I can't use the word less there otherwise I might start to take it too seriously and I'll end up with another trunk novella), at which time I can survey it for the nub of some kind of story and write another 60,000 words making that work.

Despite the fun that this sounds, I miss editing. Having all the words written down has the great advantage of HAVING ALL THE WORDS.

Simple, really.

On the other hand, I seem to strongly remember a feeling I had the last time I was editing which was something along the lines of, God I wish that I was writing words down at random right now trying to shape a story and capture characters instead of checking to see whether ass or arse is the accepted New Zealand spelling of arse (it turns out).

Maybe the bit that I really miss is where an idea comes up in my brain (ideas do appear there often, too often) and doesn't get immediately shot down.

That's really fun. It appears out of nowhere in particular (like all the best ideas should) and keeps me occupied for hours while I test it to see if it's got legs.

The only drawback is that the nowhere in particular it appears out of always tends to arrive just as I'm about to fall asleep, and therefore the hours of occupation usually take me through until well after midnight. Waking up at 5.30am to go to work is never a joy, but there are some things that inevitably make it worse.

So then there's definitely the bit where I just put a new book on sale and wait to see how the first sales and first reviews come in. No, not that. That there's the stuff of nightmares. And waking at 5.30am after a sleepless night full of terrors is another in the inevitably worse category.

So now I'm pretty much back where I started. Could it really be that this bit that I'm not enjoying at the moment is actually the bit that I enjoy.

Hmmmmm. My day job is looking pretty good right now.