Just a quick check-in tonight, as I’m now just about one-third of the way through this challenge.

The nice thing is that the routine is indeed a routine. Even with the day’s various issues, including completion of a surreply and dealing with a bathtub that simply Will Not Drain, the evening proceeded in its now-usual fashion. Dinner consisted of the last of the grilled chicken, accompanied by forbidden rice and carrots, with dessert comprised of the last of the ice cream, a cookie, and grapes, all while I watched the finale of season three of the Spring Baking Championship.

Charlotte was getting concerned as I sat on the sofa, watching television and eating grapes. I tried to explain that it wasn’t even nine-thirty, but apparently, her routine is that when I finish dinner—no matter how early or late that may be—it’s writing time. When I didn’t take my usual place in the recliner, she went ahead anyway, curling up on the back to wait for me. Once I’d seated myself and pulled up the footrest, she jumped down and ensconced herself between my thigh and the arm of the chair.

From there, it was business as usual. As I wrote, I was aware that the scene was more of a sketch than a true climax. It will definitely require work to ramp up the tension. It may not even end up being the actual climax if I decide it’s simply not plausible for the characters, but that’s for the next draft. For now, I have something on the page, which means I now have something I can edit.

Several weeks ago, I ordered Walter Mosley’s book for writers, This Year You Write Your Novel. Walter Mosley is only eight years older than I am, but he’s written more than sixty books, plus plays, film/television work, and something called “a memoir in paintings.” He’s a highly respected author, and even though this isn’t my first novel, I’m not so arrogant that I think I don’t need insights from someone of his caliber.

My copy is a slender hardcover volume formerly contained in the library of Wheaton College in Norton, Massachusetts. The date stamp slip at the back is pristine, presumably because it’s been many years since librarians stamped the due date on a slip in the back of the book to ensure it was returned on time. We’re now at the other end of the spectrum, where libraries are even discontinuing overdue fines. My local library just announced the elimination of fines, although they noted that books should still be returned on time as a courtesy to the next reader.

But I digress.

The first section is entitled, “The General Disciplines That Every Writer Needs.” Under this heading are four disciplines, the first of which is “Writing Every Day.” The first sentence leaves no room for equivocation: “The first thing you have to know about writing is that it is something you must do every day. . . .” It doesn’t escape me that the past few weeks are the first time in my writing life—at least, the first time since my fan fiction days—when being told I have to write every day feels like an affirmation rather than a scolding.

Walter Mosley continues by saying that there are two reasons for this rule. The first is “getting the work done”, and the second is “connecting with your unconscious mind.” It is somewhat disconcerting to find that I agree with him on both counts. The first is obvious: by writing at least 1,000 words per day, I have chalked up more than 33,000 words of my novel, whereas if I hadn’t committed to this challenge, I’d have a fraction of that sum at most. The second, though, is more deeply true, at least for me. My unconscious mind does work on the novel at other times of the day. I make it a point now to carry my purple notebook with me so that if I have a thought, I can capture it. I could jot such thoughts on any scrap of paper—I’ve been known to scrawl them on the church bulletin during the sermon—but putting them in a single place decreases the chance of losing them and increases the chance that I’ll actually look at them and even use them.

In fact, while I don’t want to sell short the pleasure of having clear, measurable progress toward an objectively measureable goal, I suspect that the greater value of this challenge is that I find myself thinking about this book throughout the day. Flashes of thought, sparks of ideas, snippets of dialogue—it’s as if my mind is in constant conversation with my story, even when my conscious brain is focusing on whether the interpretation of a contract is properly raised by a dispositive motion where the parties dispute their intent as to the terms.

It is probably worth noting that in addition to the surreply I wrote for a client, today I’ve written an email newsletter about the various pop-up book fairs I’ll be participating in this spring, nearly 1,300 words of my novel, and this blog post, which is nearing 900 words. In other words, I’m well beyond my 1,000 words per day. Apparently, I was right: to keep writing is to keep writing.

Walter Mosley certain seems to think so.