I was thinking about you last night while I did the laundry, ate a snack cake, and watched a M*A*S*H marathon. I was thinking about how I should be working on you, but that I didn’t want to. I was thinking about how the last several times I sat down to work on you, I was so darn tired that I fell asleep over my keyboard. I hadn’t slept much, but part of me was worried that it was you, not me.
I was thinking about how hypocritical you are. Just when I start to get really worried that you’re super boring and could never be a good sequel, I tell a trusted friend about your plot and they tell me how exciting you are. I should be happy about this, but I feel betrayed. I mean, why do you have to wait until there’s someone else in the room to let your beauty shine forth? Don’t I count? The one who created you? Or is this one on me?
I was thinking about you this morning over breakfast. I have this horrible tendency to fall asleep over a good novel after the kids get on the school bus. The house is so quiet, and is so perfect for writing…or for catching up on sleep. I was thinking that today would be just like any other. I would sit down, read the last few paragraphs, and either fall asleep or just get angry. Angry at the idea that maybe I’m not going to get this done after all.
I’m thinking about you right now, and how happy I am with you. (Who’s hypocritical now, you ask?) The hour I set aside in the mornings just to spend time with you absolutely flew by. My characters made progress. And they weren’t boring. They were exciting! They did things that I hadn’t planned out for them when I’d laid out your outline lo these many months ago.
Sometimes it’s you, sometimes it’s me. Okay, it’s probably mostly me. But let’s have mornings like this more often.
Love and kisses,