So68 on me of you may recall that I’m moving soon, which is both exciting and nerve-wracking because new places cost a lot, y’all. I have a few weeks still (well, one week and three days, but who’s counting?), but I’ve already started the packing process because I have a lot of stuff. A ton of it. Most of it books and notebooks, and although I’m tempted to keep some of them out as if I’m totally going to read 50 books by next Friday, I’m being good and putting everything in boxes for the move.
One of the things I dug into yesterday was a stack of notebooks that I keep in a very particular place as my “To Work On Next” pile. These are all things I’ve gotten about halfway through in the past, previous NaNoWriMo attempts and stories from my really productive period where I was plodding along on about four different books. Because I’m a complete narcissist, I read a few pages of each and was kind of impressed with myself. I have a lot of really decent unfinished work on my hands. I know they’re unfinished because I’m trying to be good and focus on one project at a time, but is this a huge mistake? I wasn’t getting much finished, per se, but I was getting a lot made. And my productivity lately hasn’t nearly been up to snuff.
Case in point, Facebook memories highlight the fact that, at this time last year, I was past page 200 of Heartless. I just hit 68 on Fearless, waaaaaay far behind. So where has all that productivity gone? I’m sure a new place will revitalize it significantly, but part of me is considering going back to my scatter-shot ways of working on several books at once. Whatever I’m doing now just isn’t working for me. And there’s just too many good things in my possession that are only collecting dust.
It doesn’t help that I recently read in an IAmA on reddit by R.L. Stine that he used to kick out 2 books every month back in the 90s. 2 books. Every month. Granted, it was pretty basic YA, but still. I’ve got to kick my butt into gear.