Another week gone by, another week of like . . . one coherent scene of progress? I’ll hold for applause.
Virtual writing nights with my friend continue to be the most productive part of the week (a whole interrupted hour?!), but I feel like I’m still feeling around for the heart of the story. Writing out random, out of order scenes helps with that.
Honestly, though I’ve felt like my motivation just hasn’t stretched to writing, at least not this past week. The push to get back to better routines (at least I’m waking up early and reading again) is taking some extra willpower.
How long do you thing we can blame a global pandemic before I actually have to write this novel?
Here are my last sentences written from this past week:
4/21: My skin felt itchy, feverish, daring me to do something about it.
4/22: The next day, when I break up with CJ, it doesn’t feel like a stupid thing.
4/23: “Roses,” she says.
4/24: Then you’ve never had it with warm apple crisp.
4/25: She licked the salt from her fingers.
4/26: I rub my palm against the inside of my left arm, then follow.
4/27: When she returns, there’s a bottle of Jack Daniels under her arm.
With Love,
Natalie