(Brownie points to anyone who gets the title.)
I have been on a writing tear from hell. Case in point: I bought a brand new composition book at work. I've already used about 20 sheets from that 100 sheet notebook. That's what, about a fifth of the damn thing? I haven't had a tear like this for a very long time.
And I am loving every second of it.
Every free moment I get I am in that notebook, happily scribbling away. Whether I'm at home or on a break at work, I'm writing. Although I'm basically just writing scenes (which are completely out of order), I haven't felt this good for a long time. I can't help but find it odd, because most of what I've written is pretty damn depressing. And my sore left wrist is complicating matters. (Ever tried holding open a notebook while wearing a wrist stabilizer? It ain't easy!)
I should probably make a habit out of this. I wouldn't mind actually cobbling together a manuscript so I could have Prime edit the living hell out of it in the hope of selling it. I'd enjoy that work a helluva lot more than what I'm doing now. (I'll bet it pays better, too.)
Well, I'm off to do a little more writing. Wish me luck.
--Weasel, "It'd be nice to get paid for what I really love to do and no, I don't mean bitch and moan."
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