Another Saturday Night and I Ain't Got Nobody

Well, I have my laptop at least. It's 1:20 in the morning and I've been working well since about 8pm. I started this afternoon around 3:30 but then there was time on Facebook and checking e-mails and making tea and staring at the screen and getting a bunch of somethings for my mother, never at the same time and often just as soon as I've sat down at the desk, and, oh yeah, watching Must Love Dogs on Oxygen (cute movie!). So basically, my procrastination skillz were in mad form tonight.

I do better at night anyways, always have. Something about that dark cocoon brings out the creative in me. These long vacation days allow so much laziness, so much inertia. No need to wake up with that alarm clock, no sir. I can hit the snooze a thousand times, or just go crazy and turn the whole thing off. Madness! But after a day and a half of wallowing in my totally craptastic bed, despite the surprise treat of a Highlander The Series marathon yesterday (yes, I have a geek side - have you met me?), my back rebelled violently and compelled me out if only to spare my spasming muscles. And, you know, shower.

Now, I've got 12 new pages, 3,300 new words and they're good words, they're keen words. They set up my hero much more clearly, I think, or at least his motivations. I think. I'm never entirely sure. I'm learning that when you're aiming to complete a 100,000 word novel, it's kind of hard to keep track of everyone and everything all the time. Yes, an outline would probably help, but I get partially into writing one, and realize I'd rather spend that time actually writing. I start writing and get in the flow and then later have to go back and make sure the choices my characters just made are in line with what they made 30 pages ago and, if not, do I now have to rewrite those 30 pages? Ugh.

But it's satisfying to have another 12 done. To feel like I'm getting a handle on where this is going - sort of. Now I'm off to jettison my cats from the hateful bed so that I may wrestle clean sheets on to the wretched thing. Clean PJs, clean sheets, clean Kiersty.

World's at my feet, baby.