Today was nothing, and I mean nothing, but writing. Oh, and naptaking, and a relatively small amount of procrastinating. But I forced my way through two scenes and approximately twelve pages (eight handwritten, but as I'm using the tiniest college-ruled lines in a fairly large notebook, the typed version should be longer), so score to that. But it was a hard, brutal slog; I wrote at my desk, in the bathtub, on the roof in the fog, at my desk again, and in my bed in an attempt to keep myself awake and stimulated enough to keep writing rather than stopping every time I felt like I could go no further. And it worked - not sure it will work again tomorrow, but I certainly feel better about the book than I did yesterday.
And I feel better about life than I did yesterday, too; I'm no longer quite so annoyed with everyone and everything, so perhaps tomorrow I can safely venture out of my hermitville and, you know, get some coffee or interact with strangers or something. Nothing too wild and crazy. But the writing is the most important thing, so if I can venture out and be productive, great; if I must do my weird peregrinations through the apartment in search of varying places to work, then I'll do that instead. Goodnight!
1 comment:
Looks like you have a case of POD, Post Olympic Dumps. Also known in some circles, perhaps five, as Olympic Post Partum Depression. Unforunately, given your gluten free routine the normal medication simply will not work: chocolate chip cookies baked with Gold Medal flour. Slater
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