For several months, I’ve been making the habit of writing, as close to every day as I can manage. I’m trying to think of what I’m working on as a really long story. Or some days it’s better if I look at it as a whole lot of single pages strung along one after the next. It’s a lot less terrifying than whispering the “b” word (“book”).
Up until this week, I was feeling fairly invincible. Things were ticking along nicely. And then… not so much. Characters have betrayed me. Yesterday I did more yawning than writing. There has been some slowing down. Some doubting. Some self-pity. A little misery.
I have decided laughter is one cure for this grey place I’m in, because I am not about to give up. I hope to find my way to the end of my long story somehow. Today I discovered these two laughs, made for writers by writers:
That Jackson Pearce, she’s a funny one.
Or maybe I just need to change my name to Jac?
(photo from stockxchng)