Someone, I don’t remember who, said: “I like myself better when I’m writing regularly.”
I’m that kind of person.
But for the last few days, I haven’t been able to drag myself out of bed at ungodly hours to do my writing, and daytime has been reserved by life activities, and revisions of stories already written, especially the A-Z ebook. (By the way, I’m officially thinking of calling it A-Z Stories of Life and Death)
So the upshot of it is I’m going to bed guilty each night: how could I not write a single good line all day, and still get on with life?
I need to relax a little, I think, and not haul myself over the coals every time I miss a day or two of writing practice.
We’re all allowed our breaks. (Aren’t we?)