DAY 54: Watch her wallow.
Can't eat (unless you count the chocolate I'm not supposed to touch). Can't sleep (unless you count three hours of dreams in which I'm chased through dark streets by evil monks). And the moon, she is on the wane, which means my body is deep in the Ninth Circle of Hormone Hell.
I'd go for a walk to clear my head, but it's thundering. In the Northeast. In effing FEBRUARY. (But Global Warming is a mythical lefty construct, so I guess I'm just imagining that phenomenon, and so are my poor dogs, with the panting and the drooling and the trying to fit their big, furry butts under my chair.)
And the Book That Would Not Die? Is now, officially, UNdead. And haunting my ass (hence the dreams about evil monks). Even the kinky smut is hard going. Heh. I said "hard."
My kingdom for a thousand decent, usable words a day. I'm lucky if I get five hundred.
My next book? Something MUCH lighter: More sexy cowboys doing each other in the hayloft. I can't wait.
At least the cat is cute.
SelahMarch.com - Romance of Dubious Virtue
4Comments:
How bout matches for the dogs? :-)
OK, I have to say-what you have gotten done DONE is 54 days is AMAZING, and you need to wave a pompom in the air for that.
OK, I'm waving for you.
yah, I'm wallowing, too. I say if you don't have a real deadline, go straight for the cowboys in the hayloft. Life is too short to skip the chocolate. Also you should crank up that music, it's too quiet. Dance. Is that bad influencing enough? Should I offer you some whisky, as well?
Hey, what was with that thunder? We had it too. Strange.
Didja vote?
Very cute cat.
::tap:: ::tap:: ::tap::
Is this thing on? Are you dead? People are beginning to wonder.
*Looks around*
Boys. I believe we have a dead blog here. Get the tractor.
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