I do enjoy a fine set of scissors. I’m forever cutting out pictures and sayings from old magazines and tacking them in journals, notebooks, box covers and the like. Inspiration, you know?
Scissors, though, are rarely allowed within eyesight of my manuscripts. I’m a hoarder of words and once I write something down I plan to keep it until the pauper’s grave has me. (Bad, bad writing form, I admit.)
So, I was thoroughly surprised to find my scissors heading toward The Hushing Days (long-labored book #18) with glee yesterday.
In fact, I actually posted a net loss in word count Thursday… and was happy about it.
I believe I’ll take this as a sign of my maturation as a writer instead of as a concerning dip into self-mutilation.