Friday, July 18, 2008


My husband has been complaining about my crabbiness. I'm not really crabby...for the most part. Definitely being home with my kids does not make me a ray of sunshine and the heat bothers me. And lets not get into the fact my bamboo floor is buckling for some unknown reason. Actaully, that takes me from crabby straight to furious.

What I am is distracted. Its how I know I'm truly into my writing. For most of the time, part of my head is somewhere else. I'm scowling for no reason and I am forgetful. It doesn't matter what I do, part of me is in my story. It's misinterpreted as being in a bad mood.

When I'm writing, I focus pretty well, as long as the story is flowing for me. If the flow stops, then I get cranky. Writing becomes painful as does everything else. Then I find something else to do. I know I've said it before but it bears repeating, housework opens up the flow. I'm at about the mid-point of my story and I didn't have the rest of the story plotted out (I don't outline or do any pre-writing stuff) and I could feel my production slow up. I got up from the computer, worked on the laundry, juiced some lemons and worked on the dishes. Suddenly, it came together and I can now see all the way to the end of the book. Now I expect my word counts to increase exponentially until the end of the book as long as real life doesn't interfere.

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