Freaked just a little as I finished my writing early yesterday.
Actually had time to think about what I’ll write next.
Thought process roundup: “It doesn’t matter what you’re going to write next since what you’re writing now (for over a stinking year) is NEVER going to sell. You will go back to penning poor-paying smut. The Hushing Days manuscript will end up in a box under the badminton set in the garage. One day, your nephew will be taxed with disposing of the literary clunker and will shake his sweet head and sigh “Poor, spinster Auntie. She was so silly,” as the stinker of a book finally finds its home in the garbage can next to the rotting banana peels.”
Well, let’s just say the day soured after that.
On a brighter note… 10 peas down. 9 to go.
Post-note: Again, I’d refer you to Tuesday’s “Counting Peas” post for further illumination on that last bit. Don’t put old Auntie under the badminton set just yet.