(This post was originally written on 750words.com. It has been edited.)
I’m on an eleven day streak. Which means I can still write. I have proof of that. 750 words a day! That’s amazing. I don’t know why it’s been so hard. All I know is that it’s hard. It doesn’t come like it used to. It doesn’t work like it used. Maybe all that means is that I need to find a new way to work. I need to try new tactics. I suppose that’s what 750 words is. A new tactic. And it works. For the most part.
It’s just that this isn’t writing I can use. This will never be published, and why should it. It’s just for me. A space to ramble. Never knew I needed it so much, though. It’s barely two weeks, but I find I already don’t need a reminder. I wake up wanting to write. I like it. I like the interface, the absolutely simple white and black page. I like watching the counter at the bottom, driving myself towards the magic number. I like the badges, I’ll admit it. I like that the site does all the work for me, counting, tracking, saving. It’s just 15 minutes out of my day, and then I’m done. Then my brain is a little more clear, and I can get on with the business of other writing.
Or, at least, that’s the idea. It does clear my mind. I’ve always held that the first ideas you have are the worst, the most obvious. You have to work down the list before you find the good one.
Terminal is the perfect example (and something I should be working on, given that it’s already drafted. Shouldn’t it be easier to get to the final stage?). Terminal, which is sometimes called Modern Girls and Old Fashioned Men, which might be renamed again to Forest for the Tall Trees, is 30 minutes right now. It has character and plot and conflict and what I hope are a few jokes. But it’s not good. And it’s not really anything. It needs to be longer and better.
It was about a variety show: a singer, a dancer, a writer. Then I thought about making it about writers, because writers love to write about writers. So it became a singer, a poet, a reporter. Georgia still wanted to be a singer, apparently. Porter was still going to be a dancer, but a dancer who can’t dance anymore, because of the war. But I want to change it again. I want to make this theatre about theatre. Lose the songs, because I can’t write songs, but I can write plays. Porter still wants to be a dancer. Georgia can be an actress. Freddy is always Freddy. Freddy is always a writer. Yes.