The writing hasn’t gone well this week. At first I thought I’d just hit a road block in my WIP. You know those days. Draft a scene, toss it out. Draft another. It sucks, too. Go to sleep. Wake up. Toss out second attempt and prepare to resuscitate the first.
That’s pretty much been my week. Mid-day Wednesday, I finally realized why. Turns out I’m sick. I’ve been in a writing frump ever since.
What’s a writing frump, you ask? It’s when your writing feels like a bedraggled housecoat. No matter how many times you wash it, even iron it, it’s still soiled and smelly and all-around mucky. You just want to MOVE PAST THIS PART. But it’s hard to move past the frumpy part when the frumpiness is caused by…well, you. Your crummy illness.
The good news is, I have an excuse. My writing sucks because I’m sick. I can’t be sick forever. I mean, it’s not like I’ve contracted the plague or anything, so I’m guessing I’ll feel better next week. And the writing better reflect that—or else! I will go nutsoid on my muse.
The super blagh part about all this is that I was making good progress toward Finishing the Damn Book. Now I’ve lost a week.
Ah, well. No looking back. It’s counter-productive. I’ll spend the weekend catching up on promo stuff and fulfilling other biz-of-writing commitments. And making sure I get better. Even if I have to lie on the couch in front of a blazing fire for hours while My Liege and Eldest Son attend to my every whim. Yes, even then.
How did your writing go this week?