Today was a productive writing day. What that means for me is over 2000 new words on the page that didn’t exist when I got out of bed this morning to turn off the 5am alarm.
It also means I stayed focused.
It means I sat here in this increasingly padded chair and kept clicking the keys when about 98% of me was sure we’d rather be in the kitchen baking something, or riding an extra five miles on the e-bike while I watch one more episode of something not really worth my while.
It means I didn’t go shopping, even though we could use another loaf of bread. And maybe some milk.
It means I didn’t answer the phone. But then, I almost never do.
It means I didn’t read all the blogs I wanted to read.
It means I have much to be thankful for, the work of today… that I’ll probably tear apart and rewrite tomorrow before I push on with the next scene. But what a blessing to have words on the page to play with come tomorrow morning.
The day started with:
Heaving in breath, heart going at a gallop, Jesse sprawled on the bank beside Tamsen Littlejohn while she coughed up what seemed half the mountain’s runoff.
And ended with:
“But it’ll be a great help to me,” he added with a crooked lift of his mouth, “if you don’t try crossing another rain-swelled creek—or take on any more bears—at least while I’m not around.”
What makes for a productive day for you? What makes you breathe a prayer of thankfulness for the work of the day?
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