Writing is haaaaaaard, you guys. /whine
Okay, got that out of my system.
I’m having a day where I want to get up and clean all the things. Desk’s a mess! Clean it up! That pile of laundry, let’s fold it! Ohmygodthekitchen!
If Arya wasn’t hiding under the bed, waiting to blender anyone who comes near, I’d plop her atop my desk, play that video of squirrels on loop, and make with the
It’s because I’m close to the end of this book, you see. Four chapters and an epilogue. Or, with last night’s writing, more like 3 2/3 chapters and an epilogue. It’s at least loosely plotted out in my head, with some jotted notes scattered about the house depending on where I was when I wrote them. And now the worry sets in and starts to gnawing: what if I fuck it up? What if it’s keen in my head but makes no sense on paper? What if it’s all dreadful, dreadful, DREADFUL?
I want it done. I want it off my desk and incubating, waiting for feedback and taking some time to congeal without me picking at it.
But that means butt-in-chair, feather duster put away, dishes left, yet again, to Greg (who am I kidding, he always does them anyway.)
Anyway. Accountability countdown time:
Starting wordcount: 53,984
Tasty beverage: this morning’s coffee
Chocolate and other sustenance: farmer’s market salad stuff when I hit a break
Feline desk evictions: 1, Pixel being needy. It’s early yet.
Distance to the light at the end: four chapters and an epilogue.