three cups later....

Despite raging insomnia last night, I'm doing pretty well today. I guess my body is becoming accustomed to the new way of things, which is around 6-7 hours of sleep on the weekdays, and catch-up on the weekends.

I'm going back to exercise; I did thirty minutes last night, and my legs are screaming today, so I did something right. Sorely out of shape. I had trembling fatigue in my leg muscles after fifteen minutes of squats and lunges, but I welcome it. I need to be in shape for the next five years.

Ah Yes, The Next Five Years
I said the next five years are going to be interesting, and they are. My goal this year is to finish and ship off at least four books, and chances are good I'll be halfway done with the second one by Sunday.

Is that overly ambitious? I dunno. More like -- overcompensating. I have no idea what's going to stick to the walls. I have no idea if my craft is even up to par for novel sales yet. If it is, I'll sell books. If it isn't, I'll keep writing them until it is.

I read webcomics. I read a lot of webcomics. I realized recently that the ones that update the most frequently also happen to be the ones that are the best drawn in terms of structure, style, and layout.

The two are absolutely related. Why? Because those are the artists who draw every day. They are honing their craft regularly. Whether they realize it or not -- that's another matter.

It's not an earth-shattering epiphany; I realized it a couple years ago when I came to the conclusion that writing a paragraph a week wasn't getting me anywhere. It confirms what I already knew: Writers write. Every damn day they're physically able to sit down and do so.

And conceivably, I'll be doing just that for the rest of my life. While I have a dayjob (which I still love!) I need to maximize my freetime and health so that I can maintain a rate of writing and dayjob-working that doesn't result in a diminishment of quality in one or the other. I owe them both. I will not abandon either.

Self-Esteem and the Road Crew
Writing irregularly wasn't the only problem I had, though. Not by a longshot. The worst habit I had was the second-guessing. The doubting. The little voice that still whispers: You will never, ever, ever sell a book.

I wish I could say when and where I decided to stop giving in to the second-guessing. It was probably a combination of prowling the essays of other authors, and getting sick of hitting the chapter 20 roadblock and starting over.

It also happened when I stopped sharing my work with my friends. This is one of those temptations I have to constantly resist. I want to show the work-in-progress to people. I dare not. I see a lot of beginners falling into this trap. In my case, it's a self-esteem thing. A fear of failure, that I'm heading down the wrong road. Guess what? Roads can be repaired. Potholes can be filled in. Roadbumps can be smoothed over. There are hundreds of ways to tell one story -- getting tangled up by that can strangle your muse.

One day, if Sword ever gets published, I'll have to post all the different Chapter Ones I wrote for it. It'd blow your fucking mind how much time I wasted just trying to write the first ten chapters of that damn book. And it wasn't the story's fault. The story is strong. The characters are fun. They're not to blame.

The writer is. Because the writer did not believe.

The writer still has a hard time believing. Just because I've stopped giving in to the second-guessing doesn't mean I don't still second-guess. The temptation to start Winter over is creeping in, even though the things I know are wrong with it -- I don't define the world enough, I'm not sure Ria is developed well enough -- I can fix. Gimme a shovel and a bucket of tar. We'll patch that baby.

Three years ago, I'd be ditching the back and the bathwater over my shoulder.

Now?

Full steam ahead. I can't wait to work on Nine tonight after work.