Friday morning, and I’m waiting for the coffee to brew. I’ve fed the dogs and watered the plants already, been and gone to the gym, and stopped at the grocery store. In a little while, I have to head to the office.
There’s a reason I get up at five in the morning. I never have enough time. This also is turning into one of those periods where my writing output is slowing, not exactly to a trickle, but the river is more of a creek now. I’m writing a noir story and I’ve introduced two characters and can’t decide which one I want to be the killer.
I’ve also introduced a cat, which should make certain people happy.
There’s no shortage of ideas, thankfully, and so I’m doing my best to get them down and set them aside until I have time to work on them. I’m eager to get back to the second book (I know, I know, one thing at a time) and really, I would also like to write here more often. I’m averaging about 500–700 words a day lately, which is better than a sharp stick in the eye (where did I ever hear that expression first?) but I have been a lot more productive in the past.
It’s hardly a situation unique to me, but lordy, I wish there were more hours or fewer obligations.
And now I have to race if I’m getting to work on time….