Freaked just a little as I finished my writing early yesterday.
Actually had time to think about what I’ll write next.
Mistake.
Thought process roundup: “It doesn’t matter what you’re going to write
next since what you’re writing now (for over a stinking year) is NEVER going to
sell. You will go back to penning poor-paying smut. The Hushing Days manuscript
will end up in a box under the badminton set in the garage. One day, your
nephew will be taxed with disposing of the literary clunker and will shake his
sweet head and sigh “Poor, spinster Auntie. She was so silly,” as the stinker
of a book finally finds its home in the garbage can next to the rotting banana
peels.”
Well, let’s just say the day soured after that.
On a brighter note… 10 peas down. 9 to go.
Until tomorrow…
Chloe
Post-note: Again, I’d refer you to Tuesday’s “Counting Peas” post for
further illumination on that last bit. Don’t put old Auntie under the badminton
set just yet.
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