Each morning, I make a date with myself and my novel. The alarm rings at 5, I pop contacts into my bleary eyes, do my makeup and head downstairs to make coffee and unload the dishwasher. (That dishwasher makes me feel like Sisyphus: Load, unload. Load, unload). My very modest and totally attainable goal each day is 250 words. The calculations show that at this rate, the first draft will be done in 2028. No, it just seems that way. Actually it might be done some time in October.
Today I hit 85 pages. Not all of them good or usuable, mind you. But the lesson for the day is that little things do add up.