I’m starting an online writing workshop through WMG Publishing today. I was so excited about receiving the pre-workshop, getting started email on Sunday morning that I sat myself down and wrote over 6600 words on a new story over the course of the day. (There was a football game that day, right?)

That’s actually kind of bad news in a way. Over the summer, I had a goal of writing at least 500 words per day (100 on days I was backpacking). That felt, at times, like an insurmountable challenge. There were evenings when I would write, check word count, sigh, play Spider Solitaire, write, check word count again and the number just went up so slowly! I had some good days, reaching over 1000 words several times, but I never thought I actually had the ability to write 5000 words in a day.

And now, here I am, proving that I can write over 6500 words in one day. And the words weren’t difficult. I’d write for a time, get up and do something else to ease my poor butt and wrists, then back to the story. The bad part is I’ve got myself into a situation like my husband’s forgetting to remember that he’s supposed to be forgetful.

See, it’s to my husband’s advantage to have me think that he’s forgetful. But lately, he’s been especially prone to actually remembering things, like dates and even people’s names. So is his memory worse because he forgets to act forgetful or better because he actually remembers things? I’m leaning towards his memory getting better, based on the evidence thus far.

It’s funny. I had some strange dreams on Saturday night, and I knew there was a story to tell in them. Not the exact story of the dream, because the dream only made sense inside itself. Dream logic. But there was a spark of something interesting in it, something I wanted to explore. I let it simmer while I made breakfast, and after my husband went to the gym I watched the introductory video for the online workshop.

And then, the combination of the excitement over the workshop, the strange dream I remembered and the lack of distractions afforded by an empty apartment compelled me to sit at the computer and start writing. I truly doubt that I would have started it though, without the impetus from the excitement.

The story isn’t finished yet. I don’t know where it’s going. But I’m excited to find out – almost as excited as I am to start the workshop.

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