creeping up

I'm in one of those states where reading over the last post -- about how to get published -- seems like a funny taunt from a past self. Why, it's as easy as one-two-three! Oh, it is to laugh.

Not that I'm despairing or blocked or any of those things. I'm writing, and it's slow but steady. I'm doing that thing I do where I'm looking at my fantasy self-appointed deadline and my current word count and doing some calculations of just how much I'd have to write at a minimum just to meet it. The current magic number is 410 -- significantly higher than the oft-attempted-not-always-met-goal of a daily 250.



Of course, all this clinging to numbers is just a way to stave off other kinds of panic (is this any good? what's going to happen next?), but there is something satisfying, after all, at seeing a word count slowly, ever so slowly creep upward. Even if every so often your inner editor kicks in (or, say, kicks into higher gear, because is she ever not there, keeping things to a tortoise-pace?) and you have to delete a chunk and you find yourself slowly sliding down again.