This is how I amuse myself when I should actually be writing:
On to progress reports. I’m going to do fifty pages of shallow editing, and mark out what new scenes need to go in. I’ve already got three lined up to be written. Also, my agent was right about there not being enough build-up for the relationships. Damn her! and her rightness 😀 *shakes fist at uncaring world*
It usually takes me about three years to accept that people might be right when they tell me something is not working. This time it only took two months or so. I call that progress-win.
If I hit my goals today, I’m allowed to splurge on a decent mascara. (hey look, whatever gets me going, right?)
Truth is, I mostly hate writing. I mean, I love having written, I love reading the stuff, I just don’t like the thinky stuff that goes into getting a book to that point. It terrifies me in a OH NOES I HAVE TO USE MY BRAIN WTF WHY WHHHYYYYYY also TYPING I AM SO BAD AT THIS WHY CAN’T I JUST DOWNLOAD MY THOUGHTS DIRECTLY I THOUGHT THIS WAS THE FUTURE.
hmmm, maybe less coffee in the morning.