Good morning! I’m significantly more awake than yesterday, which is a good thing. Even though I was exhausted, I got caught up in a good book. I started to cry, and my husband asked if it was a sad one. I told him they all were. At least the good ones.
If you want to speed through a book, laugh a bit, enjoy a heroine that talks back, and then cry your eyes out, I’d recommend reading what I just read: When Beauty Tamed the Beast, by Eloisa James.
So! I got sucked into a book (really didn’t mean to let that happen), my eyes felt like they were on fire and needed an ice mask, and I forced out a few words. Only 75 fiction, 334 total. I knew it would be a tiny week.
Except here’s a thought to chew on. I “knew” it would be a tiny week because I planned on getting lots of editing done. But I haven’t really done any. So I wonder if the fact that I’m actually writing less has to do with the fact that I “allowed” myself to write less this week. I’m starting to wonder.
Because I can get an awful lot done in a day if I’m organized. I’m keeping up with the #bujo, but I’m feeling unorganized.
Time to clear off the desk. Or move into the kitchen when it’s time to work. Either would be fine.