Sunday Bloody Sunday
I've spent all day writing and editing. Not 'all day' in a casual brushed off kind of way, but ALL DAY. I did stop to take H out a couple of times and then earlier this evening I moved a chest of drawers in the car, other than that - writing. I think I have listened to something 40 albums today and I couldn't tell you what any of them were. This is not a complaint. This is me feeling pleased with myself that I really could sit down and write for an entire day.
The downside of that is I will expect the same of myself tomorrow and that's not going to happen because I have a stack of other things to write and/or fix - but the heart is willing.
See how I have already dumped that dumb word count idea that I set up yesterday? The work will be finished when the story is told.
Anyway. I am spent like a penny and cannot write another word that will still be of value in the morning. Time to retreat into a world that belongs to somebody else. I picked this up - Eleanor & Park - a couple of days ago and it's proving to be a little bit special.
Not my usual fare perhaps - it was an instinctive thing and once again, instinct proved to be correct. It will be finished by tomorrow evening - it's that kind of book and if I had been writing all day today, I would have finished it ages ago.
While we're busy looking at pictures, please help yourself to this one and paste it around your digital world like there's no tomorrow. It's some of the best advice ever:
My favourite amongst those is Make Me Fucking Care. That's so important right now. Everything is turned up to ten, everybody is pointing at everything and everything is louder than everything else - a man can only take so much shouting and pointing.
Make me fucking care because that's about all you've got left out there.