It’s Saturday morning and I’m getting ready to work on the final book in this contracted series.
There’s a steady hum of rhythmic pug snores and the Manpanion’s deep breathing swirling through the house. I usually like noise when I write. Music, the TV on in the background…but this morning, the cadenced breathing seems to be doing the trick.
Writing still doesn’t feel normal to me. Not yet. It’s hard for me to remember how this was a part of my daily life for years. Right now I struggle over every freaking word, every movement, every piece of dialogue. Nothing is natural anymore. I vaguely recall a time when it was almost 2nd nature. You need 1000 words? Give me an hour. Sadly, now it’s more like 1000 words? How about 250?
Maybe it’s because these aren’t my characters? Although I thought this would be easier…kind of like coloring in the lines. The backbone is provided, I just need to add the meat and flesh.
But when you haven’t written in 5 years, meat and flesh isn’t really so easy.
I may be here at my desk all day, much to the Manpanion’s chagrin. We like our Saturday’s together. But I need to get this book punched out, and he will just have to be patient. Maybe today’s coloring won’t take as long as it has been. Maybe it will take longer. Who knows.
Either way, once I reach my word goal, if I’m not too tired, we will don our Santa hats and start decorating for the holidays. The Compound is in dire need of some holiday cheer!
Maybe we’ll even watch Love, Actually for the first time this season…