I worked hard unraveling the mess. Going okay. For the third time in the past three months, I deleted a whole scene that I later realized I wanted. So I had to rewrite it. You’d’ve thought I would’ve learned the first time not to throw stuff away.
Ah well. Brain is fried.
You know, it takes a hell of a lot of concentration to write a novel, you know that? You can’t half-concentrate. You gotta shut everything else down and really focus.
I’m too tired to cook, too tired to watch tv, too tired to eat, too tired to clean the house that the fixer-people made a humongous mess of.
Ever get brain-fried pooped? Too tired to sleep? How do you find that second wind?