A Modest Start
I made measurable progress on my novel for the first time in six months on Sunday. This was thanks, in part, to all the blabbering I’d done during the car ride on Saturday. It was also thanks, in part, to the fact that I got up exceptionally early because Stephanie was snoring like a Mac truck coming through. We live near enough to the Manchester airport that we’re used to the occasional plane flying overhead, but the noise emanating from my wife early Sunday morning was simply deafening. I also think I just didn’t want to go back to sleep, so it sounded louder than it actually was because my brain was trying to use it as a tool to get me out of bed.
So, I wrote about a third to two-thirds of the chapter I’d been talking about the day before. I did it with Lost in Translation playing on the TV in the background, and with the rain falling steadily outside. I was in the perfect mental space to get this particular batch of words out of me, and when Stephanie got up a little later and I read the work in progress to her, I was overjoyed that she agreed with my own internal assessment that what I’d jotted down was already headed in the right direction.
It was a modest start, to be sure, like dipping your big toe in the shallow end of the cliché pool, but it was a start nevertheless.