This is one of those weird weeks where I'm not writing a whole lot (waiting for feedback from crit partner on book 3 and from editor on BAD HAIR DAY). I get this funny feeling on weeks like this, like everyone around me has been replaced by clever clones overnight and I just haven't picked up on it yet.
I'm not entirely sure why that is. For some strange reason, writing about a fantasy world makes me fit better into the real world, and how the heck does that work? Maybe it's just that I work well with schedules, because otherwise my short attention span takes over and I'm all, "I think I'll work on--OOOH! POPCORN! I LIKE--I think the word "squamous" is really underused. I think I'll make an effort to use it--Wait! Wait a minute! I've come up with the best book idea! Zombiethulhu Takes Over the World!"
Honestly, I'm not an idiot. It's just that my brain exists in a constant state of elevated caffeination, and it runs at a higher rate of speed than is probably safe.
But the schedule helps. Because I know in the morning, I take care of correspondence. I blog, if I haven't pre-written one. I clean up the house, do a load of laundry, and piffle around in a vain attempt to make it look like three kids don't live here. I play with the twins, take them to school or dance or whatever we're doing that day. And then in the afternoon, I write. I like having that structure; by the time I sit down at the computer, I'm ready to tackle some pages. I rarely sit there without a clue what to write because I've been ramping up to it all day. And without that, I NEEDLESSLY RAMP.
No more needless ramping. Needless ramping makes me feel funny.
And that's a sentence I never thought I'd write.