It has been a wild & crazy week. Thanks to some household pests (not human ones, I'm talking about bugs), this house has been turned upside down, thoroughly shaken, and put back on the ground. We're trying to get all the pieces back in order, dishes washed, laundry done, shelves cleaned.
It's been a big deal, that's what I'm trying to say. And it makes me want to curl up in bed and watch every single Poirot episode on Netflix, and not be a genius-writer-girl, stringing together an outline for this next draft.
Comfort food, yes. Plot twists, no.
Cinnamon twists? They would be okay. Any kind of pastry would be great. I'd also except wine. (And maybe whine.)
BUT, in spite of dust, Clorox wipes, and paint (yes, paint), the outline is still progressing. I'm trying to put months and months of notes into one continuous outline.
I sometimes think that half of writing is trying to organize ideas. How the heck do you do that?
But I'm going to persevere. This little story of mine is growing and growing. The dust (real, household dust) is settling slowly.
And even though I won't start this next draft of mine on time (whatever that means), I will start it. Soon. Ish.
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