About nine handwritten pages, and I really wanted to get to the big climax (in more ways than one) but I guess I shouldn't push too hard. I'll finish the draft by noon tomorrow, take a break and leave the hotel (except that there's 18 inches of snow on my car and I really don't feel like dealing with it). Maybe I'll take myself out to a fancy lunch, or go buy a bottle of champagne or something.
But for now I'm tired of focussing, tired of sitting, tired of drinking soda and eating salads, missing my husband, missing my sewing machine ....
Screech!!! That was the sound of me grinding to an abrupt halt. While I'm here in isolation there is no husband, no sewing machine, nothing but immersing myself in the work.
And some people think writing is an easy way to make a living. Ha!