I set unbelievably hard goals for myself. I know this. I do it on purpose. These goals, like writing 50,000 words in a month (not including school work), or finishing an entire novel in a year, or editing at least five pages a day, are all intentionally just out of reach. This way, I have to work. I can’t let myself get lazy and procrastinate when I have slightly unrealistic goals set for myself.
I succeeded in my first unrealistic goal. 50,000 words were written in the span of 30 days, thus creating the (very) rough draft of what will hopefully become my debut novel. The other goals since… let’s just say close, but no cigar. But that’s okay. I just set a new goal and aim for that one, working even harder than I did before.
But life happens (and by life, I mean school, because at this stage, school is life), and my goals get pushed further and further back. My goal to have this novel finished by December 31st of last year did not happen. My new goal was January… then February… Now it’s the end of April, with a check point of my last “major changes” read-through ending by February 28th. I can only work hard and hope I can make this goal, mostly because I am getting impatient, frustrated, and excited.
I’m tired of having to keep pushing my goal finish-date back further and further because I can see the potential in this book and I just want it to be done already. Hopefully I’ll be able to slow down and keep my impatience at bay, but at the same time, the end is in sight. I am sprinting toward the finish line now, so I hope the finish line does not get further away.