When I woke up this morning, I did not want to write. I was being lazy. There was Resistance coming at me from all directions. I was tired from playing too much Zelda the night before. I didn’t want to get out of bed, but I stuck to it as it were my job. If I want this to be my job, I need to make it a career.
I dragged my ass out of bed. Tuned the world out. Left the phone far away to keep the distractions far far away.
When I sat down, I had absolutely no idea what I was going to write. I knew where I was in the book. I knew the characters I needed to play with. I just didn’t know what to do. I had literally written them into a box and needed to figure out how to get them out.
Just do the work. I kept telling myself over and over. I wrote 1,000 words and then the inspiration hit. When in doubt, just add machine guns. Then I hit cruising mode. I plugged away at another hour until the muse fluttered away.
Do the work. Close the door. That shit just comes from nowhere. I love the work. I fucking love the process. I fucking love the work.