Animal pictures have such a wonderful, natural way of describing the Human Condition--without words.
But because I write, I'm wordy. It's a natural thing. . . .
I feel my head is in danger of separating from my body. There. I've said it. And boy, do I feel better. But . . .
Do you know the feeling? Not the wordy feeling. The separated head feeling. Please tell me this happens to everyone.
I'm now working on scene 14 of my rewrite. I laughingly call it my first rewrite, because officially, that's the truth. But some of these scenes have been rewritten what seems like hundreds of times. Sheeshkabobalino. And for the last week or two, my writing schedule has suffered with the Christmas calling of my heart. If only I could turn into a complete Scrooge. . . .
Only 55 more scenes to go, including scene 14. My goal is to have this done by the end of February. That works out to some serious business, especially with the holidays. And my birthday is next month. It falls on a Sunday and for some silly reason, I'm hoping to make it last a week. And I take a trip to Tucson next month as well to visit my mom and sister. Gosh, it sounds like I'm setting up excuses. I promise, I'm not.
Is anyone interested in helping me keep "on task" for the next couple of months?
It's all better with friends.