Writer's Notebook, Day Seven-Hundred-And-Eighty-Nine

I had a rather slow day as far as writing went.  I got a few poems done, and worked a bit on my current story, but it was somewhat minimal.  In some ways, I am glad to have gotten myself into a more flexible routine, yet I still miss the sense of being productive, especially that sense of having done a significant amount of work.  At the same time, I am also aware, and always was, that volume is not quality, though this is often countered, in my mind, by the recognition that more time writing is practice, even when the specific piece is flawed, and that great work is often revised into existence from far lesser drafts.  I think that my current output is still quite high, in general, but I also find that increasing my output is the only thing i have control over in terms of feeling any type of accomplishment.  In the end, I think it is that which often drives me, and what concerns me when I have a day like today, where I write less, is the question of whether it reflects on some internal challenge to my commitment.

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