If she started now, maybe she’d be able to finish in time.
She half-heartedly clacked a few words on her computer, deleted the file, and grabbed a notepad instead. If she was going to do this, she was going to do this the old-fashioned way; no, not with a typewriter, that would be too hipster–with a pen (or twelve) and a stack of notepads. And maybe, just maybe, she’d be able to finish. And maybe (just maybe) it wouldn’t be peppered (heavily peppered) with too many adjectives. And maybe, just maybe it would make sense when she was finished with it. But she daren’t hope it would be good. That would be asking for too much.
Her hands began to cramp as she finished her first paragraph. She pressed so hard with the pen (too hard) that her bicep and trapezius started to burn. She briefly wondered if she should describe where the two muscles are–not everyone is fluent in human musculature–then abandoned the idea. You’re just trying to up your word count, she chided herself before putting down her pen and going to make breakfast. When she was done with her eggs and toast she would come back, figure her average words per line (the extra work of hand-writing this thing), and calculate how many pages needed to fly under her soon-to-be calloused hand per day so she could be Done.
After eating, she counted and averaged and figured. And at the end, she found she was one line shy of her word count for the day. She quickly scribbled this last bit of description onto her notepad and put her pen down. Four more lines. It will be a head start for tomorrow, she thought as she got up from her desk.