Right, well, I'm a little mad at myself this morning. Not drastically angry, but just a little bit irked. You see, I struggled to write barely 2 000 words yesterday morning in the same time slot I normally write up to 4 000 words in.
I didn't think much of it, and figured that I'd just pull in some writing overtime yesterday afternoon. Then I made the mistake of catching up on Neil Gaiman's blog during lunch. I read a story about a cat he owned named Zoe, who was one of the most loving cats one could meet. She developed an extremely rare aggressive tumour (yes, the malignant kind) that grew over her throat and prevented her from drinking or eating.
Zoe of course, died. The vet came to Mr. Gaiman's house and put her to sleep.
It was such a distressing and lovingly rendered tale about a cat named Zoe, I curled into myself and had a good cry. I felt so miserable that I decided to go to icanhascheezburger.com to look at funny pictures of cats in an effort to cheer me up.
That writing overtime I was supposed to pull? Yeah, it didn't happen. Now I'm 4 000 words behind target.
Well, there's nothing for it. Must get back to the book and start typing. Hopefully it'll be better by tomorrow, and I will have caught up at least a little bit.
'Till next time, then.