So... the month of December was a bit of an experiment. Since I wanted to work on a new story, I decided to try something new in order to avoid the usual writing like crazy for two or three days in a row followed by a week or longer breaks. This time I wrote 1000 words per day, every single day. It wasn't hard to keep up with this routine, it was relaxing, except for maybe during the weekend as I don't usually write during the weekends but I prefer to read instead. It worked well until last Saturday when I finally gave in and caught the cold the rest of the family had been fighting for a week or so. After that I couldn't focus anymore and I had to cut back on writing. And my brilliant plan went down the drain... at least I have the consolation that I'm quite advanced in the story and there is still hope to finish the first draft by the end of the month. But this is not what this post is about.
Yesterday evening I was drugged up to my eyeballs with antibiotics, tylenol, cough syrup and two or three other things to chew the doctor gave me, and having an extra radiator by my side because I refuse to move my desk from the window corner where it gets pretty chilly in the winter, probably that's why I got the cold too, or at least it helped some but I'll never admit it, so being in a slightly happier and fuzzy mood I typed something. I revised it today between coughing fits, never try that, it's a waste of time, and then I sent it and now it's up already. While reading it on the site, I was giggling and ROFLing and LMAOing at the sappy and cheesy things I can write when I'm under influence. The thing is, the editor liked it so I'm sitting here scratching my head and wondering whether should I change my field of writing. I won't, but I haven't written any romance in quite a while so maybe it was time.
Santa Clause Extraordinaire