Today was not shaping up to be a good writing day. Yesterday I'd been flattened with what, if it wasn't technically a migraine, was close enough for me, and I'd started out the day able to do little things, but still feeling quite blah and disinclined to do much. Going out to run an errand awakened the slumbering headache. I was afraid. I called my chiropractor and made an appointment for later in the afternoon, in hopes that tweaking the neck would ease the headache. (It did, for what it's worth.)
I was somewhat green around the gills at that point, not sure that staring at a screen would be wise. But earlier in the day, before the headache came back but when I was being just a bit whiny about working, my darling husband had issued a little dare, a little challenge, with the prospect of a reward if I managed to hit even half of what I'd consider a reasonable day's word count. And because I'm a stubborn little coot, I sat down at the computer and opened one of my current projects. Yes, it's rather sad when he has to resort to dares and challenges, but there are days when the writing doesn't seem like its own reward.
Just over an hour and two thousand words later, when I had to leave for the chiropractor, I realized I'd finished my chapter and started a new one.
And the writing had been its own reward, for not only was I happier--but also my headache was much diminished.
Mind you, I still intend to claim that "reward"!