The official blog of Michelle Tuckett, word ninja.

Day Fifteen: 31,617 of 50,000

I’m a little excited about getting my iPad when I finish this novel.

I’m also shocked and really proud of the word count I’ve been able to rack up with that particular carrot on a stick. And it’s made me wonder what it is that’s really so different about being excited. Surely there’s a limit to what’s humanly possible, right?

But if I’m able to crank out 3-6,000 words each day to get this far, then what has made that seem so difficult in the past? The only thing I can find is how I react to my inner editor, or the voice I affectionately call the Evil Critic.

This is what my usual conversation with the Evil Critic usually looks like:

Evil Critic: “What are you writing? Where is this going to go?”

Me: “Uh, I don’t know really. I’m just sort of… writing.”

Evil Critic: “Well that’s dumb. Stop it and find something actually good to write.”

Me: “I don’t want to stop – it’ll work out. I mean, I understand your point, but I really just need to keep going.”

Evil Critic: “It isn’t okay to suck you know. That’s a lie.”

Me: “ I can’t deal with this now. I’m trying to write.”

Evil Critic: “It isn’t like you’re ever going to write anything good anyway, I suppose. Maybe all you can do is suck. Why didn’t you go to college again?”

Me: “Now you’re just being mean.”

Evil Critic: “No, I really mean it. You should have a real career, since you’re so determined to keep writing stories that go nowhere. It’s a nice hobby, but you’ll never really get better.”

Me: “I’m ignoring you.”

Evil Critic: “Don’t make me sing.”

Me: “Writing now. For real.”

Evil Critic: “What do you want to hear? How about that song they always played when you were in High School. Remember high school? You sucked there too.”

Me: “Fine, I’ll go make some coffee before I write. Maybe you’ll be done then.”

 

Lately, the conversation goes more like this:

Evil Critic: “You know, what you’re writing is kinda stupid.”

Me: “ipad.”

Evil Critic: “No seriously. A guy finds a frozen fairy in the forest? How contrived can you get? You’re already running out of ideas and it’s only March!”

Me: “Don’t care. ipad.”

Evil Critic: “It isn’t like you’re ever going to write anything good anyway, I suppose. Maybe all you can do is suck. Why didn’t you go to college again?”

Me: “ iPad.”

Evil Critic: “No, I really mean it. You should have a real career, since you’re so determined to keep writing stories that go nowhere. It’s a nice hobby, but you’ll never really get better.”

Me: “The faster I finish, the sooner I get my iPad.”

Evil Critic: “You’re a loser.”

Me: “Busy writing. iPad. Go away.”

Now if only I could get as psyched about getting to eat some chocolate when I finish a novel.

But I suppose what I ought to take from this (besides an iPad) is that when other things fail, I’m not above being lured to greatness by incentives. And yeah, I know there is incentive in the whole getting-published-eventually thing, but it’s powerful to know how good I am at pushing past my own barriers when there’s a shiny waiting at the end too.

So now I’m curious if I can finish the novel by tomorrow night.

You know, when my darling Irowboat goes and picks up my reward.

From the Apple store.

Did I mention I’m getting an iPad?