Today I ran some errands in the morning before work (how industrious! until you realize that I didn't get to work until after eleven), then had lunch with Karen and Lizzie, then worked all afternoon. I had dinner at Gordon Biersch with five girls from work--it was really great to catch up and to hang out someplace other than the office cafeteria. Then, I came home, hung out with Terry and Claude, and decided that I should retire rather than staying up and watching tv for a couple of hours. Isn't that admirable?
Despite (or perhaps because of) my recent attempts at self-discipline, I really just want to blow everything off, move to the middle of nowhere, and write the Great American Novel. Alternatively, I could work on my romance novel--I've been told that it was rather unfair to suck people in and then leave them hanging. I'm sorry! I'll try to work on it when I'm home over Christmas, but if you know my family, you know that they can be rather rapacious of my time when I'm at home. Can you really blame them? But, the problem with the romance novel is that it is, ipso facto, extremely formulaic, and I feel that I might have stories in me that diverge from standard plotlines.
However, this is all meaningless speculation until I actually start trying to write--and who knows when that will be. All I know is that it won't be tonight, but I have to start doing something soon or I'm going to spend the rest of my life wondering if I was destined for far greater things that never came to fruition.
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