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So I'd written about a hundred thirty words, and was feeling proud of myself -- I don't think I'd done more than thirty words in a day in a while, and that hundred and thirty included a transition. (Have I mentioned HATING transitions recently? Because I do.)
And I decided to have a go at writing the next bit, though I wasn't sure how it'd go; there was a mini-transition at the beginning of it, and then the sort of pseudo-outline in my head was [ dinner happens, we set up some stuff for later ].
I've now written 709 words on the day, including a scenelet that characterises the senior priestess and the junior one that makes life interesting. That was unexpected. Here's for just sitting down and getting stuff done.
In other news, I have a cut on one of my fingers under one of my rings, and when I sweat it itches like the dickens. Also, my wrist is hurting again -- the one I broke or sprained or whatever the hell I did to it in January. Sigh. At least my left leg hasn't come undone again.
Here's to the hope of getting involved enough in work that I don't have the mental cycles to wig out too badly the next week, eh? And now it's four in the morning, and time for shower and bed.
(Coward. Yes, I know.)
And I decided to have a go at writing the next bit, though I wasn't sure how it'd go; there was a mini-transition at the beginning of it, and then the sort of pseudo-outline in my head was [ dinner happens, we set up some stuff for later ].
I've now written 709 words on the day, including a scenelet that characterises the senior priestess and the junior one that makes life interesting. That was unexpected. Here's for just sitting down and getting stuff done.
In other news, I have a cut on one of my fingers under one of my rings, and when I sweat it itches like the dickens. Also, my wrist is hurting again -- the one I broke or sprained or whatever the hell I did to it in January. Sigh. At least my left leg hasn't come undone again.
Here's to the hope of getting involved enough in work that I don't have the mental cycles to wig out too badly the next week, eh? And now it's four in the morning, and time for shower and bed.
(Coward. Yes, I know.)