It’s not Wuss-out Wednesday. In fact, I spent a good portion of my day at work lamenting that it was not Wednesday yet. Yeah, yeah, I know, wishing my life away. I’m not going to sit here and justify my desire for the weekend. I have a headache.
Where was I? Ah yes, wussing out. I’m afraid, in fact, that it is Yet Another Post About How I Can’t Write a Post Today. Why can’t I write today? The headache? It’s not that bad. The fact that I’m sitting in the laundromat on a cold December night? No, laundromats are good places to write, and cold December nights are often strangely conducive.
I wrote a little on my novel while at work. About half a page. Actually, as I type it into the computer, a handwritten page translates (transposes?) into more than a page typed. Then again, how many pages will I throw out when I finally figure out what the plot is and begin to revise?
Perhaps I should not include that last sentence. It will give the outlining writers a chance to get all smug and point out that THEY already know the plot BEFORE they begin writing. Well, that’s nice for you.
I wonder if I ought to be concerned that the only thing I seem capable of writing is stuff about not being able to write. Seriously, I keep flipping back pages and trying to continue with things started previously. Nothing doing.
Having neglected to bring a book or a deck of cards, it seems I must either continue writing this post or sit here and watch minutes pass as counted down by the clothes drier.
Full disclosure: I wrote the above while sitting at the laundromat and stopped writing after the last sentence. I am now sitting at home, typing this into the computer. I see I am approaching 300 words. That’s a whole lot of nothing. I’ll stop now and hope for a better post tomorrow.