It is forty minutes until bedtime and I still have to do a huge pile of dishes. I haven’t written a single word today. And haven’t done any planning. I do remember thinking about the novel for a few minutes while trying to clean the house but I didn’t actually finish the cleaning as well.
I changed the sheets. I cut my husband’s hair. I made pizza from scratch. I talked to my mother-in-law for twenty minutes. I played the piano, and the ukulele, and I worked all afternoon.
I really hope tomorrow will be better. I’m still a little sick, though, and a free Saturday might mean that I just plunk down in a chair and do nothing because I’m tired and need rest. I also need to finish cleaning the house because I was too sick to clean it last week.
Part of me wants to do some writing, and do the dishes, and clean so I’m done but that’s a really bad idea.
I will do the dishes, get ready for bed, and got to sleep soon. And tomorrow I will start writing. Even if I haven’t finished my outline or anything.
I’m feeling that if I don’t start writing tomorrow I won’t be able to write 50,000 words in November. I have all but given up on finishing the whole novel until the end of the month.
But then when you’re sick, and there is drama, and crises the writing schedule has to give.
Funny enough I have been writing my blog posts all month, faithfully every day. If only writing fiction would feel so easy. I might have to do more of that but then it might never feel easier. We’ll see.