DAYS LIKE THIS


So yesterday dawned bright and early. I curled up in my recliner and began to write, watching the sun glint off the Ohio River. It went more slowly than I wanted, but you know, I had to stop and visit for at least a tiny while. The dogs came in to keep me company, I nibbled on cinnamon bagels and whole grain goldfish, and finally exhaustion overtook me and I dragged my sorry ass in for a nap. Then dinner, a rousing game of Go Fish with Sweetness ad Light (which I won), then back to work until about two in the morning. I must confess that Slingo Deluxe called my name a few times while I thought through what was going to happen next.
I ended the day with 32 pages -- respectable but not good enough.
This morning we had sex. In the book, that is. Lovely, lovely sex, in great detail. Every now and then I'd email Lani and Jenny (Lani was upstairs, Jenny was down the hall, but I was WORKING) to let them know what they were missing.
Exhausted by all the excitement, I needed a break, so we went out to Steak N Shake because a girl has to eat.
Then back home, writing, another nap, writing. Thirty pages so far, and miles to go before I sleep. I was hoping to finish the draft today -- it's within sight -- but it depends on my energy level.
Still, 62 pages in two days isn't bad, and I'm not finished yet.
I need some more diet green tea ginger ale. I need someone luscious like Adrian Rohan in my bed.
Well, I have someone like that but he's back in Vermont (and he's a lot sweeter). But I don't have four dachshunds and a toy poodle puppy with no back kneecaps (I kid you not -- someone left poor Mona in a grocery bag at the end of the driveway of a rescue organization and of course Jenny took her in, with Lani going No, No, No like Amy Winehouse but finally saying yes, yes, yes.) But I digress.

I need to print up all 400 pages and see if I can stomp and whip and seduce it into shape for my charming middle-aged editor (I kept calling him my baby boy editor but he's thirty-five so he qualifies as middle-aged. I, however, am younger than springtime.)

Anyway, more writing to do, But I am a goddess. And it's not even 9 pm.