Patrick left on Sunday after muffins and as much coffee as I could get into him and dude_the left yesterday evening on the late-night flight out of Hartsfield. I hate goodbyes.
dude_the took many pictures, mostly of Hobkin, with his new digicam. He’s promised to email them to me.
Spent my writing time yesterday looking for my muse. I think she stepped out for a cigarette and maybe a tall latte, and someone hijacked her. Or she bailed on me, the strumpet. I tried caffeine to lure her back. Then I tried more caffeine. Then I tried sugar to go with the caffeine (and we bid fond adieu to the last of the Halloween Pixie Stix). Result: No muse, but a profound case of the twitches.
So I said: “Screw the harlot. I can write just fine without her.”
Writing stats from yesterday:
100-words, all of them crappy, and all of them blood drenched from my bleeding fingertips.
Hey, I’m not proud. I begged. “Muse? I didn’t mean what I said. Please come back. I’ll make you a brimful pot of Harry & David’s Moose Munch coffee. And we’ll have chocolate and pie. Muse?”
Fortunately, today she took pity on me, assisted by a clever idea brainstormed by Matthew.
Writing stats for today:
2500 words to the theme of “dirt” as per the Creative Loafing Fiction contest (thanks for the head’s up britzkrieg!) and the story is completed. I’m under a very tight deadline as the hardcopy manuscript needs to be with the editors by 5pm Friday. “No exceptions,” they say. So I had Matthew first-reader it as my only reader feedback, eschewing my usual route through Critters. I’ll send it out tomorrow, hoping it’s not too raw. If (when) it comes back, tail between its legs, I’ll send it through the Critters queue for fine-tuning before tossing it out to the usual ravening hoards.
So I hit writing flow, with a few snags here and there. I think I work well with a deadline. Or maybe it was all the coffee.