Almost three weeks after getting back from Cuba and I'm miserable with this awful unrelenting invisible itch that is making a bear to be around.
The shape and texture and pacing of next book "No Island is an Island" is bothering me like an unbeatable itch in my mind.
I try to watch Dance Moms in peace and feel guilty so I write a chapter and sketch out two more.
I try to watch all three Army Wives on On Demand but I can't bear sitting still that long and falling into other stories. I pull out the nearest pen and a scrap piece of paper and outline another chapter but that isn't enough. I can't just sit on the sofa or make small talk or even read a book.
The itch won't let me.
So I'm scratching this nasty itch one chapter at a time, one story at a time, until someone finds a better cure for this writing disease.
The shape and texture and pacing of next book "No Island is an Island" is bothering me like an unbeatable itch in my mind.
I try to watch Dance Moms in peace and feel guilty so I write a chapter and sketch out two more.
I try to watch all three Army Wives on On Demand but I can't bear sitting still that long and falling into other stories. I pull out the nearest pen and a scrap piece of paper and outline another chapter but that isn't enough. I can't just sit on the sofa or make small talk or even read a book.
The itch won't let me.
So I'm scratching this nasty itch one chapter at a time, one story at a time, until someone finds a better cure for this writing disease.
