By Odin's Unseeing Eye...

This last weekend was shit. Not only did I not write Sunday but I found a bug in my hair on Saturday. My toilet was clogged. Then I had a pukefest early Sunday morning for little to no reason. I also came to the conclusion this book is probably never going to actually become anything. It’s affecting the writing – or at least I hope that is what is affecting the writing. I just ain’t got it. I am still struggling to get back the mo that jo’d off somewhere. I am still typing to myself – which is never a good sign. Case in point:

After the figure moved away from the trees and into the white expanse of the meadow she could make out black trousers. On his head was a brown hat but glints of gold beneath the brim caught the sunlight with each long legged stride. Oh god. Wintry wonderland. Something fucking shoot me.

By the time she turned the last corner into the hall she was walking up at her full height oh god what am I doing, her chin in the air, her back very straight, the firm line of her walk oh god when will writing be easy again - something about her posture only wrecked a little by the fact she was holding onto herself tightly because of the cold. Jesus help me

Something black to the side caught her eye and she almost cried out in shock. Only the upright wheel gave the hint that the item she was looking at, a black box accordioned down to only a few feet high? What the fuck I am shit today. It's a carriage or what oughta be a carriage but its fucked is what I'm trying to say.

These are actual paragraphs in my manuscript. Do not judge me – I am trying to just write write writewritewrite and not let the story get away from me or to pause and think and write super pretty sentences. I just try and get the structure, the feeling of what I want each paragraph to say. I can make it work later – but… but…. This is the worst. I’ve never still been writing “you suck god this is shit” to myself in the paragraphs this late in the game. I have a character named Lady Whatever. That’s not good either. I’m usually awesome at names.

But I swear upon Odin’s unseeing eye, by the power of Greyskull and upon the pillars of the Grey Havens, I will finish this book to its bitter, unsellable end. Just to finish it. I will not abandon it and let it be another unfinished stone that lay against my heart. Knocking against all the other stones against my heart. Jesus, this is maudlin.

I am now dangerously behind. I have to write 2,859 words a day to finish in time (this would be the 25^th as I am going up North for Thanksgiving on the 27^th and I gotta pack and make my apartment presentable and we know that I will be doing that on the 26^th.) I must do this for many reasons. First: no computer access up north. Or no reliable access, that is. Second: turkey coma. I have NEVER managed to write when I go up there. And I never write when I come back. It’s just the way things are. Third: Thankgiving is so late this year, it will be December before I come back. So, the 25^th it is.

So I go forth. I write. I hope you are doing well, my friends. Or not writing to yourself at least.