Inspiration is a fickle mistress. Which may be thought by some to be a good thing, considering I'm married and all.
But seriously, the tough part about trying to consistently turn out a specific word-count quota is maintaining the frame of mind necessary to do so. Writers rely on their brains functioning on a certain creative level. Unless we want to become relegated to the "starving artist" class, we can't just sit at our computers waiting for inspiration to return from its vacation and possess us like a Charismatic Holy Spirit experience. Though when inspiration DOES strike, we are inclined to jump up and shout, "Hallelujah!"
But it's rare and fleeting.
In between these erratic bouts of painless creativity, we moan and sweat and sigh and labor. The very thought of typing one word sounds about as attractive as going on a date with with a serial killer. But unless we soldier on, that cursor isn't going to expel any words. The keys need our fingers, the fingers need our brains, our brains need the sheer will of knowing that it MUST write, and cannot rely on a muse to show up whenever we summon it.
For me it raises images of Frodo Baggins dragging himself up Mount Doom. He represents our project, exhausted, dragged down by the weight of all that is expected of it. But when he finally collapses, good ol' Sam Gamgee steps in and bodily hauls him up the steepening slope. Sam represents our will power and the knowledge that our project will never get done by itself. It needs that extra push, even if it is painful and exhausting and often downright irritating.
Huh. I like that imagery.
Excuse me while I head off to my word processor to save Middle Earth.
