It’s been a slow month. I wish I could say that I killed it this month with writing, but I didn’t . I’ve still managed to get a few words in here and there every week. Progress is still slow. How I envy those that can knock out thousands of words every day, week, or month. I try not to compare myself to other writers I know. I tell myself that my path is mine alone. My career as a writer should not be measured by anyone else’s success. We all have our own problems that we need to overcome in order to write. Because your never going to have time to write. You must make the time.
I’ve been tracking my writing for the last few years too. What I’ve noticed is during the winter months, I tend to write less. Blame the cold, or the early sunsets, or the “winter blues.” I slow down this time of year. Then in early spring, like mid-April/early May, I perk up and start writing more.
So, I’ll won’t beat myself up too much. I’m putting words on the page. Maybe not a ton, but some. I had hoped to finish this novel soon, but I still have a ways to go. I still so proud that I am still plugging away at this thing. It would’ve been so easy to quit. But no, I’m still working.
Slow progress, but working.