I wrote two posts before this one that might never make it to your email. My chocolate lab Westley took a nap, dusk turned into night, and the temperature dropped 15 degrees in the time I’ve spent trying to think of something I want to talk about, but when it came down to it neither post felt right.
I suppose I could’ve spent this time working on my novel. I suppose this could be considered time wasted. So much of writing is trial and error. It makes it hard sometimes to judge if you’ve made any progress at all. I don’t know that I’ve accomplished much tonight, but it feels good to have written something. I haven’t written much for the novel this week and my blog post is a few days late, but at least I’m writing again.
Westley is staring at me now. He taps his nose against the doorknob, his signal to let me know that he needs to go outside. I know that the house will get quiet and dark soon. Another day is slipping away as I type this.
In the morning I’ll slowly tear myself away from the warmth of the covers. I’ll sit down on the couch with my coffee and laptop, and I will try again to write something, anything.