Best Laid Plans

Thought I had an art show to be involved in today, but I slipped a cog. It's next Saturday, so I'm all dressed up with no place to go. Sitting in front of a computer screen for most of the days, deleting entire pages of (what you thought was excellent) prose from the NaNo draft will do that to you. I try to get out and let the rare sunshine hit my face at least once a day. Sometimes that opportunity escapes as words - bad and good - pull the leash, drag me back to the responsibility cave and the world disappears.

I'm not complaining. It's one of the joys and nightmares of writing. Sure, we all bitch that we hate it. We're lying. Nothing is more comforting than being inside your own head with a 50,000+ word concept to sanitize. Or more daunting, demoralizing, frustrating, demanding, and debilitating to solitary self-esteem. I've spent all week in this fog bank and wouldn't change it for almost any temptation. But I do need to force myself out of the house, into a fleetingly clear day, and blow some of the stink off. Maybe get a fresh perspective. There's always grocery shopping. We haven't stopped eating, darn it.