Forty-seven. It's a nice number. It's bigger than I was afraid it would be. With February gone and March slipping past, I start feeling like, why even bother?
But that would be crazy. This is your year, Lucy Flint!! Keep writing! Untie those knots in your plot! Figure it out!!
(Insert other encouragement here.)
Right. I could let it make me crazy. Or I could sit here with my Lady Grey tea and stare outside (all greys at the moment, grey greens, grey browns, even the red of the tail lights is a bit ... grey), and let calm seep into my heart from somewhere.
One word at a time. One sentence at a time. One nifty little plot trick... at a time.
On February 1, I am sending a manuscript out. No matter what. No matter what.
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