So if you haven’t been around these parts for a while, you’ll find out right now that I’m slogging through the sequel to I, Spy.

I think it’s trying to kill me.

I think it might succeed.

After taking possibly the longest time ever to write a book (for me), I still came out with one of my messiest first drafts—which I didn’t have a chance to read start to finish until after my crit partners had their ways with it.

Leaving me with even more work post-crit than ever. Sigh.

So I’ve retooled the romance plot line, the main plot line, the villain’s motivations, settings for several scenes . . . one excruciating page at a time. I’m just now digging into my critique partners’ more granular notes, and STILL it’s taking forever. I spent most of the day Friday and Saturday working (writing is giving yourself homework forever) and only slogged through 100 pages.

Once again, the little black marks on an electronic page had defeated me.

And if the story ended there, this would be another chapter in How to Make Life Really, Really Hard for Yourself for Dummies. Finally, I looked down at that little counter at the bottom of the screen and did a little mental math.

During those two-day long slog of 100 pages, I’d added over 3000 words. 3000 words requiring in-depth research (real restaurants’ menus, a chase scene, tourist spots), editing, refining—work.

Suddenly my defeat turned into a victory. Yeah, it’s been a lot of work, but I’ve accomplished a lot. More importantly, my book is becoming so much better.

So how do you make your life really, really hard for yourself? Work single-mindedly toward a quantitative goal without ever taking stock of what you’re really accomplishing.

What do you think? Do you ever make life really, really hard for yourself? Come share!

Photo credits (via Flickr & CC): Reaching out for help—Andy Munzer; Kill Key—Jeff Keyzer