So, three days in and by my word count, I’m half way there. (To 50,000 words in the month of November for those who have no idea what I’m talking about.) I only wish I could guarantee such productivity everyday. Alas, I know tomorrow morning is that most dreaded of days, Monday. Granted, my Mondays are a great deal calmer than most, which must be why my Saturdays are so busy. They compensate. Still, the world must go on, and much as I’d like, I can’t just sit holed up typing for the foreseeable future. Vitamin D is very important and horses like to be fed. There are also those lovely stolen moments where I actually ride, but Saturday here was an absolute tempest. It’s hard to muster any desire to leave my characters and my computer when roofs are literally being blown off buildings.
Am I alone in feeling completely and totally drained after so much is poured into one goal? I highly doubt it. It would be ignorant, vain, or maybe both to think that. A long time ago, I tried a theme of my posts mirroring Dixie Chicks songs. I think somewhere in the Fly album there is a line “am I the only one who’s felt this way.” I could be wrong. I often am. Perhaps not as often as I am forgetful, but, still, both happen with increasing frequency.
Right about now I’m battling with the idea of diving into the next crazy output or saving my breath for another day. The only problem is: I know the world will be here tomorrow. Horses will need to be fed, stalls will need to be cleaned, bills will need to be paid. What I can’t know with any real certainty is will Annie, Lee, Mary, and Peter be here? Will I still know where they’re going in the morning? Do I dare risk it? I think not, so adieu.
Off to my solitary rambles I go.