This is my weekend to catch up on everything I didn’t do last weekend. I jampacked yesterday with errands, an endless backlog of household chores, and an intense desire to destroy my list. I imagined the joy of grabbing a cup of coffee, my current read, and settling into my comfy chair for the duration. It’s my fault. I know what happens when I start a new book—I don’t want to put it down until I reach the last page.
Since I know my preference, the sensible choice would be a compromise that involves forcing myself to select a short story collection or a sweet novella. Nope, that would be too easy. I want a sweeping epic fantasy, with multiple books in the series where each installment clocks in at 700-800 pages. I have difficulty believing people who claim they can read a chapter a night before bed. What? If I want to sleep, the last drowsiness aide on my list is reading. Embarking on a new story is a sure-fire prescription for a sleepless night, a yawned-filled day, and a heated argument about when to begin reading the next book.
No matter the challenges and the obstacles blocking my way, I maintain the item at the top of my list as a non-negotiable. Yesterday I wrote 282 words.
Did you write yesterday?
Keep on writing.
Jo Hawk The Writer