I’m not a fast writer.  I think my  best day was 8k, and boy, was my brain exhausted after that.  I average 300 words a day, which is a drop in the bucket for some people.  I know writers who routinely do 3-4k a day and consider that a light day.   I used to be jealous of those writers.  I thought if only I could push myself, dedicate myself to just sitting and writing, I could do that too.  Right?

Wrong.

Oh, I could do it for a while.  I did it through NaNo, and felt my brain turn to mush for most of December and January.   I’m still not sure I’m fully recovered.  It’s been a long, hard slog through the new year, and I don’t know that what I’ve written has been all that good.  Thank goodness I’m writing rough drafts, and I’ll have time to edit it.

But what I’ve realized, as I’ve been pushing myself to get more words, to get Secrets done so I can get it out for Balticon, that it’s okay to be a slow writer.  I’m not a fast writer.  I’m a slow, methodical writer.  I’m a writer who is dealing with a full-time job, a stress-aggravated illness (well, let’s be honest, several of them), and I have a life.  I have friends.  I have social commitments.

It’s okay if I don’t get 5k a night as well.

Just because I know in my head that it’s okay doesn’t mean that my heart understands it, or believes it.  I still feel inadequate when I see the wordcounts others post.  I still feel like I could be doing more.  Like I SHOULD be doing more.

I hate that word should.

I need to remember that SHOULD doesn’t need to rule my life.  I’m writing every day.  I’m getting words.  Slower than some, but still getting words.  And that’s all that matters.  I’m writing every day.  And that’s the important thing.