A little bit low on the count, but not much. I've actually got permission from the book to take a day off here and there--I don't intend to use it, but it's nice to know that being a handful of words under the mark isn't a tragedy at this point.
We're a house full of sick kiddos here; Poncho woke himself up with coughing, and Born Dancin' is clearly getting the same thing. Gargh. I'm only up now because the boy is.
Today holds the exciting prospect of taking the truck to the mechanic and the onset of a massive winte storm: an auspicious beginning to the dreaded Week 2 of the writing, which the book suggests is the killer week, in which I will be attacked by the hobgoblins of my own little mind. I'm doing okay so far, really, but I'm bracing for the fight.
1 comment:
Will it help you to go to Borders or Barnes & Noble and cruise through the game fiction aisle? I wonder if it might lift your writing spirits during Hell Week to look through some of the hack work that sees print on a regular basis...
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