Since I've determined the worst part of writing something new is putting the first draft on paper, whether it's with a pen or a laptop (I've been using a combination of both on my third work in progress), I've decided to approach it with a guerrilla attitude. This is just about slogging through the mud of the first draft; crawling beneath the barbed wire fence of irrational, unreasonable reasons to justify procrastination and constructing sentences with a somewhat cohesive theme. So, I write at least one sentence per day. This commitment is supposed to ensure I write more than one sentence, but some days that's enough for me.
It's rather ridiculous how difficult this is.
When I read through what I've written so far, I like it. It shows some promise; a glimmer of originality and possibly enough style to entice readers other than myself and my mother. Shouldn't this be motivation enough to keep going? Apparently, it's only motivation to say "there, I've finished chapter three" without much of an idea how chapter four is going to appear.
The fun part, at this stage, is seeing the notebook grow. Each time I write a few more pages to insert, or type a few and print them out, my cup of satisfaction overflows a little.
Back to work now; must keep slogging.