I was v. lazy today; for some of it, I blame Alyssa, and for the rest of it, I blame my fear of starting the next book. I made it into the gym by ten a.m., but I swear Alyssa was trying to kill me; after a v. intense workout, she ordered me to do another twenty minutes of stairmaster (although I rebelled and only did ten; I'll add the other ten to my Sunday routine). So, after I showered, I came home, checked my email, and then slept for an hour, which made the rest of my day perfect for being a sloth.
And that's basically what I did. It wasn't all sloth-filled -- I finished the edits for my agent and sent her the final copy of everything, and I created the new Scrivener document for my next book and created placeholders for all the scenes that I brainstormed (about forty-five in total). So at least in that respect, my conscience is clear. And I finally broke away from my online procrastination to write in my journal, where I reminded myself that the first draft of the last book sucked, but even though it sucked, once I finally had a full first draft, it only took me three weeks to fix it. That means that the key is to just force myself to write the first draft, no matter how much I hate it and no matter how much its suckage makes me want to wail and gnash my teeth and rend my garments. And then, I can fix it, and lo, the sun will come out again and all will be well in the land.
Anyway, that's a bit melodramatic, even for me. Now that I have the melodrama out of my system (as if), I should go to bed; I have to get up around seven tomorrow so that I can make it up to Berkeley for the monthly romance writer meeting, and then I have a series of plans in the city of sin that will keep me busy all day. Goodnight!
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