It's been ten weeks since I started writing the first draft of my novel, and I think I'm about 40% of the way through it. I no longer have any doubt that I can finish it. It's just a matter of putting in the hours and staying focused. In time I will tell you about it in more detail. At this point it is still too messy and raw. So I'll just say this much: it's set in the Pacific Northwest. It's multi-generational and partially coming-of-age. It is, at its essence, a sequence of love stories.
I am so enthralled by the habits of writers: Nabokov and his index cards, Capote lying down, Hemingway standing up. This is a great post to read if you, too, find that kind of thing interesting. In the last ten weeks, I've done my writing in one of two ways. The first is in bed, right after I wake up or right before I fall asleep. Beginnings and endings of days are nicely meditative. The second is sitting at a desk or table. Hot tea helps. So do earphones and music that makes me feel nostalgic or sentimental or energetic or whatever type of mood I need to slip into for the scene I'm working on.
The best part of all of this is that I no longer have that terrible procrastinatory thought that goes: "One day, when I'm writing my book..." It's a thought that has passed through my mind hundreds if not thousands of times. But not anymore.