Day Twenty: 34,062 of 50,000 words
Funny thing, this month. When I can blog, my novel isn’t working.
Then when the novel starts to work, I can’t seem to blog.
This one is being squeezed out despite those little perfectionist demons telling me I really ought to talk to the internets only when I have something to say. Beyond making sure my words are spelled correctly, this is all a first draft.
Welcome to my head.
My wide open, empty head.
Seriously, for thoughts I got nothin’. In here, it’s all a big blank if it isn’t about story or wondering over what new person has begun residing in my skin while I’m off taking care of other things. The new person reminds me a lot of the little girl I once was who wanted nothing more than a gauzy pink cannopy bed and unicorns covering every surface of everything.
Maybe she was the one who first came up with the dream of being a writer, and like Sleeping Beauty, she climbed a high tower and wrapped herself in a thicket of thorns until it was safe to awaken.
Who knows. If there’s a shrink in the house, feel free to analyze away. Me? I’m too busy writing.