I’m tired and cranky and all out of sorts.
And I have fifty chapters left in what I think is my 18th pass of edits.
I’m sick of the story. I would rather clean the oven or gather junk for a trip to Goodwill.
The sun is somewhere else. Not here anyway. Gloomy gloomy.
But. I am starting my writing day at 10:30 a.m. as usual. Somedays it’s at 2 p.m. or 3.
But today I begin in Faith, knowing that if I but start, the page will carry me away. The story will grab hold of my heart again, and I will be sad when my tired body needs to quit.