608 words for today

All right, not great but not bad. Progress is progress. I actually ended up skipping past part of the scene I didn't really know how to write. It's okay. This weekend is going to be the problem. We'll be out of town, and I don't know how much time I'll have to write. It's like every time I go on a trip: I take two or three books with me, and never look at a single one.

But, I hit my goal of at least 500, and my hands are killing me. I think I might do some reading now. I should really be reading a lot more. My upper right arm is now throbbing, reminding me that I can't just type all day, no matter how fun it is.

I feel like such a juvenile sometimes; maybe it's the coupla years I decided I'd thumb my nose up at my own writing dream coming back to haunt me. My scenes & dialogue feel so...sophomoric. Like trying to play a guitar when you don't know the chords. Like I'm not fully accessing myself or my talents. I don't know what I'll think when I'm completely done; at least I will have finished it. Initially, that's the only thing I set out to do. Not a good novel, just a novel.