My supervisor, Ned

It occurred to me last night that I could get ahead on the challenge by writing more than 1,000 words per day. Then I reminded myself that the purpose of the challenge is not only to accumulate 14,000 words, but to develop a writing practice. A habit, if you will. Like brushing your teeth or washing your face. The point is to come back to it day after day until it’s an integral part of you, something you wouldn’t think of skipping.

I once read an article about a ballet dancer who attended class seven days per week. She told the interviewer it was like drinking her orange juice, just something she did each day. She didn’t consider whether she felt like going to class. She simply did it.

I’ve known people who claim they can’t write unless they feel inspired. Others insist they must have an enormous block of time, hours and hours, or there’s no point in trying to write.

I suppose the answer is to each their own. All I know is that if I were to wait around for inspiration or for a spare day to devote to writing, I’d never finish a book. But because I’m working in snatches of time—an hour a day, whenever I can manage it, even when I’m barely able to keep my eyes open—the missing material from my novel is coming into being. In these four days, I’ve written more than four thousand words even though once again tonight, I’d have happily shut everything down and gone to bed hours ago.

Because after all, the practice is the point.