I’m not very good at sustaining a streak. Exercise, dieting, spiritual practices… here today, gone tomorrow. But the covid winter turned into the summer of writing magically. Every Friday* since May 1, I have read a completed Flanagan saga chapter to my friend Pat, who lives in Florida. Nineteen weeks without fail.
Every weekend I begin pulling my thoughts and facts together. Every Monday I say to myself, “I got nothin.'” Every Wednesday, I’m deep into storytelling. Every Thursday evening, my juices are depleted. Every Friday morning, I’m polishing a rough draft. Every Friday afternoon, Pat calls and says, “I’m ready! What have you got for me?” I read. I cry. I drink wine. Then we discuss for an hour.
Then I look at my word count (86,000 so far) and wonder if I can sustain this to the end.
So far, so good.
*One Friday got shifted to a Saturday, due to a doctor’s appointment. I think another may have been shifted too.