Writing Actions Novels & Stories

She says as she smiles. “Good luck babe!” I say. “Thanks...” Alaia says as she smiles. I walk to my workplace and lean on the seat. I inhale deeply and stare at the computer screen. I have no inspiration today “Uggghhhhh…..” I groan as I keep thinking for 30 minutes, then I got something on my head. I write my first sentence on the computer and finish the article in hours. I send the article to Lena’s email. And I got a text from Lena after that “Let’s make it happen! Lol X Lena”

When you go a day or two without writing, it becomes easier to lose momentum and forget important ideas from your last writing session. Try writing your first draft with a pen and paper. Spike doesn't type the first drafts of his scripts; he instead writes them out longhand on loose-leaf paper and inserts the script into a three-ring binder. Writing longhand is a great way to help you constantly move forward with your script since it's not as easy to go back and edit yourself. And if you struggle with distractions when writing on your computer, using a pen and paper is also a great way to stay focused on the task at hand.

Q1 How to make money with my fiction? There are only a few things you CAN do in this career: to write, to modify, to publish. When you have an idea but your editor doesn’t like it, your chance of making money off your work is: Not write < write it out and prove the editor wrong with good work When your work is rejected, your chance of making money off your work is: Complain < modify and prove the editor wrong with good work When you receive an offer you don't like, your chance of making money off your work is:

> She thought: of course. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> She thought: there will always be more to write. _*]:min-w-0 gap-3"> She thought: that's how you know it's working.

I steel my resolve, my chest swelling with joy, I quickly type a brief message to my agent. *I have the opening chapters ready. Sending them over now.* With a steady hand, I export the file, attach the fresh chapters I just wrote, and hover my finger over the screen. Without letting myself hesitate for another second, I hit "Submit."

awerfadf: "I'll send you the outline in a bit. Can you write 10,000 words for me daily?" awerfadf: "Sent you the outline. Check it." awerfadf: "Check the outline, dear." awerfadf: "????" awerfadf: "An hour has passed. Are you there, sis?" awerfadf: "If you're there, just reply!!" awerfadf: "If the price is too low, I can increase it!" awerfadf: "Please don’t run away on me!! I'm begging you!!"

It made me feel a sense of admiration and indifference at the same time. My eyes continued to watch them until they adjourned to another section of our workplace. “Alright everyone!” The chief coordinator said, making hand gestures as she did. “Just get back to work and act normal.” We all did as she said and returned back to our various offices and work posts. * * * * The rest of the work day rolled by naturally. I was occupied with quite a number of workload. I had about three meetings with three different writers, I had to go over some things with other departments to make sure most things were in order, I also had quite a lot of manuscripts to go over.

Goals rewritten so many times they barely look different from the last version. I flip to a clean page and write the date at the top. Under it, I write: What is the point? I stare at it, then cross it out hard enough the pen dents the page. Too dramatic. I stare at the file name for a second longer than necessary, the cursor blinking like it’s waiting for permission. Then I right-click. Rename it. working_v6 Better. I sit. The chair creaks the same irritated sound it always makes and I ignore it the way I’ve learned to ignore most things that complain without offering solutions. I plug in my headphones without pressing play.

I will never be able to forgive myself for them. I rubbed my eyes, face with my hands and shut down the laptop. No matter how much I tried, I just couldn’t bring myself to raise another finger to do anything at all. This has been a trend with me lately and no matter what it just wouldn’t shake off. Even if I somehow did manage to sit down to do some productive work, I would always stray away from it. Perhaps it was the feeling of defeat or guilt, hopelessness, but whatever it was, it overwhelmed me enough to run away from it.

Not the performing version of completely — the actual version, the one that contains what you are now and what you are becoming and what you will be, the version that holds the hard parts of the building and finds them worth it. *Do the honest work. Say the thing. Build wider bases when the structure falls.* *Everything else follows from that.* *Mama* She read it back. She made two small revisions — one sentence that was slightly imprecise, one word that was the managed version when the real version was better. Then she sealed it and put it in the box with the other things that mattered. Caleb knocked on the office door. "What are you doing?" he said. "Writing," she said.