Since the last week in November, I've managed to pound out close to 25,000 words - not quite 1,000 words a day, but close enough for jazz, and I've been getting more consistent in my productivity as time goes on.
In other words, writing has become the most important thing in my day. Though I still (metaphorically) spend too much time sharpening my pencils before hitting the ol' keyboard, I've reached the point (or, god help me, a point?) where I pretty much know I'll write when I sit down to do so.
What's becoming difficult, though, is the urge to edit.
Back in the old days, when I composed on a manual typewriter and copies existed as carbon when they existed at all, re-writing meant re-typing. You couldn't just scroll back and spend and afternoon correcting a couple of paragraphs, or even a chapter - you had to re-type everything.
Anyway, part of my new pattern, after my day's work is done, is to lay back, stroke the cat and read or watch a video, with a questionable degree of concentration. During those times, it is far from uncommon that revisions occur to me - from small details to major plot changes, all of these things come to mind.
And it takes effort for me to say "No!" and refuse to rise from the couch. It takes effort to merely take pen in hand and scribble a note for future reference, rather than to run to the computer and wreak havoc on that, already written.
What takes even more effort comes the next day. When my Inner Procrastinator brandishes my evening notes like nuclear bombs in the well-hardened silos of a fanatic. "Edit! Edit!" my Procrastinator whispers, like a casually-dressed whore in the morning, pretending to be your neighbour while you're off looking for the milk and the paper.
Ahem. Metaphors'll be the death of me.
So far, I've resisted. When I've finished the manuscript - and only then! - will I start to re-write. I have far too much experience at polishing and re-polishing (and re-polishing again!) the first chapter or three and letting the subsequent gross molder away like so much forgotten food in the back of a bachelor's fridge.