But Call Me Betsy

Words written: Only this blog post. Total words written (but this also includes words from November): 109,726 or 179 pages, single spaced On Friday, I wrote my words in long hand and then typed it up. It's almost not worth it to do this, because it takes forever in long hand, and then two hours more in the evening to retype what I've written only to find I'm 600 words short. I read something that Martin Amis said in an interview with the Paris Review where he suggested that a good amount of writing time per day is two hours, more if you are revising and on a roll. Two hours is reasonable. Four hours and I start to feel like I never want to write another word again. What have I learned? I am sad to be leaving--it feels like it went too fast, though there were days this week where I couldn't believe it was only, like, Tuesday, for instance, and then there was the time on the second weekend when I realized I had two more full weeks to go and couldn't believe it....

Words written: 4,029, by the skin of my teeth Swimming pools visited: 1 I wrote in my journal for a few hours today, painstakingly slow, and then typed the words in this evening, and it took forever and then, when I got the ends of the pages, I still have 600 more to write. It appears that there is now a section where this guy is writing letters to his girlfriend from Iraq. Again, what do I know about this experience? He's a guy who earlier in the story has killed his girlfriend, and the narrator is now living in the dead girl's house. It's either going to work or it's not, but I needed 600 more words, and so they became letters from him while he's stationed overseas. Went with Ilse/Sunset to the pool today and didn't swim, but sat in a chair writing a bit and eavesdropping on a conversation between two golfers who were also there. They said absolutely nothing of note, except the one guy had his worst golf game in his life, which I guess means he didn't...

Words written: 4,039 Books taken off the library shelf and not re-shelved: 5 I am done with you, story. I don't enjoy writing. I enjoy the finishing of the writing. I enjoy re-reading though I seldom do it because it reminds me that I have so much more work to do. I enjoy the top of the page of 750words.com, which is filled with X's because I've written at least the 750 words my whole time here. I am scared to leave. I was scared to come here. It's all scary, all the time. Four more days, and this one is whittled down to nothing now, almost 5 p.m. I can't see how I will get back to this novel at any time soon unless I make a commitment to go to novel writing workshop next summer. (note: I can't imagine how a library could be louder. This one now has the sound of someone pulling off tape over and over again). I have nothing planned for dinner. The unfamiliar has become familiar, and I am better than I was the first day, when I was jumping at every sound, w...

Words written: 4,884 Level of disgust at Trump: Code Red I was going to take today off because it felt like I needed to rest or think or read or something, but I wrote a few pages by hand, and then around 3 p.m., I decided, okay, fine, just do the word count; you'll feel better. I did the word count and then typed up the other words from the day and got to almost 5,000. We are all doubting ourselves, wondering if our work will amount to anything. The best part of my day was taking a shower in the outdoor shower stall. It's a large square built out in the back yard, and has a place for shampoo, and you can move around, meaning you're not confined to a stand up shower where you keep grazing the edge of the shower curtain and having it stick to you. Plus, the rug in the bathroom has developed black spots of mold, like its dying. Outside, it was sunny and breezy and I only had a slight moment of paranoia, worried that someone was filming me. Mookie and Chap. Chap is al...

Words written: 4,118 Number of Google searches using "organ donation": 50 It can always be the last something. Today is the last Tuesday. Yesterday was the last Monday. Tomorrow... Here is how the day goes: I wake up at about 9 a.m. (or later, be honest). I brush my teeth and put in my contacts. I make coffee. I walk the dog. He poops. I feed .the dog, adding ham or some other meat as incentive. He either eats it or doesn't. I get my notebook and I sit outside with coffee and breakfast (banana, yogurt). I journal and that leads to some scenes. Carson shows up around 11 a.m. and she and Chap make fast circles around the yard. I drink more coffee. I write lists of scenes to work on at the library. I eat a cupcake (I am the only one eating cupcakes). Around lunchtime, Raluca comes down and we get on our bikes and ride into town. She wears a helmet. I do not. In town, we coast over to Left Hand Coffee Shop and order a $6 dirty chai or something like it. We sit for a whil...

Words written: 4,022 by the skin of my teeth Hours slept last night: 4 Chap has an itching problem. Last night, I'm going to say we slept for maybe a few hours. I remember the sky getting lighter through the blinds, so that was probably around 5 a.m. He wouldn't stop licking his legs and back. I turned on the lamp finally to examine him, in case he was crawling with fleas and ticks. He presses right up against me in bed, so I kept imagining them jumping from his body to my hair. I saw nothing on him. I contemplated my options: go sleep on the coach to escape him (he would follow), kick him out the room (he would cry and wake the others), or hold on to him and hope he would stop (that's the solution I chose, and he would stop, only to start again if I moved). To compensate, I drank too much coffee today. I knew it when I felt a tweak in my back--this sense of anxiousness in my body that wouldn't still. The rain made it difficult to leave the house except for a trip ...

Words written: 5,400 (yesterday and today) Art exhibits attended this month: 6 Minutes spend in Pollock's studio and house: 19 Saturday was not a good writing day, but I did put my words together and then I wrote 5,000 more today and worked on meshing the two manuscripts together. I also read some Jennifer Egan, but was not inspired, perhaps because much of her work is layered with characters and I have, like, one character. What I've learned so far with one week left to go: 1. I like riding a bike. It's faster than walking and you're getting exercise, plus it feels good to wish down a hill with the sun in your face. I only every once in a while picture myself flying off the ike and splitting my head open on the curb. 2. Chap will adapt and he doesn't have a natural wake up time of 6 a.m. as previously believed. He slept until 9 today, and only jumped out of bed because I did. He will follow me if I walk away. He attacks other big dogs to assert himself, k...