To start off, I didn’t do any tracking, which was stupid. I guestimated, even when it was clear that I was way below the mark. After one too many months of living on the breadline, I came to my senses. Or rather, my poverty levels slapped some sense into my poverty-addled brain.
Why did I spend so long thinking I had to cultivate the same writing habits as my literary greats? It’s no secret that from 12pm, my brain goes into lockdown, and from 3.30pm, it stops functioning altogether.