You've gotta try a little harder
--Alanis Morrisette, "Perfect"
On May 12, 2002, I wrote about 500 words on my novel-in-progress, "Prophecy". It was the first time I had written anything on it in at least eight years. I'd been working on it for a little while prior to that -- constructing an outline for it, mostly. But May 12 marked the starting point of writing it.
On May 19, 2002, I made a contract with myself: a two-year plan specifying numerous little details of what I was going to do to get this book written. One of my goals: Write 125,000 words in the first year.
So, my first year was up yesterday.
I've written about 111,000 words in the last 365 days.
I've been expecting to write this entry for some weeks. It's been several months since I honestly expected to meet my May 12, 2003 goal. I've entertained the notion that I might come, well, at least closer than I did. After my end-of-April push, I thought I might make a similar push over last weekend, maybe get to within 10,000 words of it, or closer. But May's been a bad month for writing for me: I haven't even broken 2,000 words yet.
I've joked about this deadline with people. I didn't think I would feel too bad about it.
I mean, yeah, I didn't make the cut. I fell short by 14,000 words. But I wrote 111,000 words in the last year. So it's not 100% of my goal. 88% ain't that bad. It's a whole heckuvalot better than the 0% that I made in the years preceding it.
I ought to be proud of myself. I ought to feel accomplished. I ought to be cheering.
So why aren't I?
That simply wasn't good enough
To make us proud