Despite steady work over the last however many weeks I feel like I’ve got another three or four worth to fit into this last one. Have to put finishing touches on the story then go over the whole thing, sand down the roughest edges so I have something to turn in that is even remotely read-able. Excited to have something to take with me post graduation, but, Christ, it’s gonna need a lot of work. Guess that’s what I get for rebooting my whole project in Week 6. Whatever. Glad I made the switch (ultimately…) but… Christ. My body mind heart hands legs typing fingers brain etc all hurt. I’m ready for week ten. Hell, I’m ready for Friday. For better or worse I can put the pen down; close the laptop lid; hit the off button. I can lay in bed without the thick, fuzzy onesie of tension and anxiety that has been like a second skin the past, I don’t know, week? Two weeks? Whole quarter? What a fucking mistake saying I was going to write a novel. I am not shits-out-words guy. I can’t fake 20,000. I’ll be lucky to break ten. But living in the shadow of that self-made expectation has been exhausting and totally un-conducive to actually writing. It hinders all my creativity. How many times can I type a sentence, delete a sentence, type a sentence, delete a sentence before I just fucking leave it and accept that I’m WRITING A FIRST DRAFT. Praying to the writing gods tonight this next week and it’s impending “deadline” cranks the juices just enough to finish strong. Close viewing, project, self eval, last journals. Phew. If you’re up there (or down or over or…) and are listening, writing Gods, I could use your strength.