Quotas. I suppose it keeps writers on track toward a particular word count goal, but a total word count has nothing to do with how complete a manuscript is.
“Hey, are you really putting those pictures in my post?” my writer asks from her recliner in the corner of her writing office.
“Are you really going to keep writing today, love?”
“Do I get wine and chocolate if I do?”
I narrow my eyes at her. “Do you get wine and chocolate whenever you hit your daily word quota?”
“I get chocolate.”
“You get chocolate anyway because of the pandemic, right?”
“You’re such a spoil-sport. You know what would really be good incentive? The good chocolate. I mean, the really good chocolate, not just the Dove Dark Chocolate and Sea Salt Caramel chocolate. And Moon Man.”
Beer over wine? I suppose, considering she doesn’t spring for the good wine unless it’s an occasion, like her book release or three days alone with her writing. “Get to the end first, love.”
“You’re supposed to show me the prize and then tell me to go for it.”
I lean back in the desk chair. She’s got the foot-rest out on the recliner on the other side of the office, fuzzy slippers, sweatpants–not that she wears anything else while working from home, and her NaNoWriMo sweatshirt. Her hair’s gotten longer, and she substitutes herbal tea these days for coffee in the afternoon.
Cute. In a stay-at-home-while-writing kind of way.
“Admit it. I’m adorable.”
I stare at her until she raises an eyebrow and focuses on her laptop again. I won’t admit it.
Not to her, anyway. She’d bring that up as often as possible, especially when she’s struggling to write, as if it would distract me.
. . . . . . . .
Where was I? Oh, yes, my writer and NaNo. I have to admit I’m impressed with her dedication. She has been hitting the daily quota, but not her quota. Good enough, I guess, though I know she can do better. Has done better in the past.
Now, if she can finish most of the story in the next two weeks, it would be a major accomplishment.
“Geez, thanks for the vote of confidence,” she quips from across the office. “Nice to know my Muse is such a wellspring of reassurance.”
“You know I’m right, love. How many times in the past 15 years with over 15 NaNo sessions, both November and other times, have you actually gotten to the end of the story in 30 days?”
She frowns at me. “Twice. Maybe. But I usually finish two weeks after NaNo ends.”
True enough. “Back to writing, love. I’ll see what I can do about your lager.”
“Make sure you wear a mask, even if you can’t get COVID. At least don’t bring it back to me.”