Been rewriting a novel in the StoryLab, which I’ve paced out, at last at present, to a three page or thousand word a day fixer upper. As always, the most difficult part of the gig is actually sitting in the chair, which, given the generative part of my process is a foreign notion. I tend to write opportunistically, on whatever device is at hand, straight into the cloud. I’ve been editing, however from a printed draft that I’ve marked up and have to be physically near to move forward.

I’ve tried to station these sessions in the upstairs garret on a borrowed desktop machine rigged with a webcam and mic as an ersatz personal media studio (you know, to document the process, man). Works well, though not as well as the one in my hand on which in writing this bit, lying on my bed amongst the laundry that needs folding.

I’m not saying it’s procrastination but it’s?procrastination.

Fact is, making a routine of being in the same place at the same time to accomplish the same task with any regularity is proving difficult. Not for some failure of will but for the simple reason that we’re on a mud ball hurling through space such that we’re never in the same place twice. Even if we we’re, we wouldn’t be the same people anyway, due to the constant cellular shifts we undergo between any given moments. So, there “rewriting process” — it’s not my lack of work ethic but physics messing it up.

That said, I’ll make the trudge. Not because I need to polish the next chapter but because I don’t want to fold clothes.

Whatever works, right?