Sometimes I don’t even care what I write.
I just want the writing done.
I go through the motions almost.
I mean, I know it is bad – but I don’t want to break the chain.
And because who knows what wins, quantity or quality?
And quality is subjective – if you think about it.
Sure I go back and edit for typos and such, but even books with 10 editors looking at it are published with typos.
So it becomes about the process of it all.
“I sit down and plunge in. When I start making typos, I know I’m getting tired. That’s four hours or so. I’ve hit the point of diminishing returns. I wrap for the day. Copy whatever I’ve done to disk and stash the disk in the glove compartment of my truck in case there’s a fire and I have to run for it. I power down. It’s three, three-thirty. The office is closed. How many pages have I produced? I don’t care. Are they any good? I don’t even think about it. All that matters is I’ve put in my time and hit it with all I’ve got. All that counts is that, for this day, for this session, I have overcome Resistance.”
–Steven Pressfield, The War Of Art
