I did something pretty stupid. I have this small bottle of ulcer treatment, and when I say ‘treatment’, I mean ‘burns the wretched things off like a red hot poker tip’. No, the stupid thing I’ve done doesn’t relate to said liquid ending up somewhere unfortunate; I’ve straight up lost the bottle, and now I’m in a state of, well agony is an odd term to apply, but mouth pains always feel worse for me for some reason. Not sure if that’s universal or not, but proportionally speaking, they always cane more. That’s about the only issue I’ve had today. For once, I’ve had a good day.
The story continues to be a pain, but as I get nearer the 40K mark it’s getting easier to deal with. Of course the really gruesome stuff is yet to happen, but here’s hoping I’ve developed an immunity. Also, I hope not, as that’s a horrifying thing to be desensitized to. I haven’t decided what book I’ll write next, but I think it will likely be The Whispering Rail rather than any rush job just to have another entry for the Wattys. There’s a Richard and Judy book contest but it’s only taking adult-story submissions. Maybe I’ll enter The Wanderer in protest. Or, maybe not.
My bullet journal fell about a fortnight out of sync, but I managed between tasks today to bring it back up to date. I never used to let it slip before lockdown, so I am hoping that post-lockdown it goes back kinda the way it was. I think it will, but I can’t know until I try. I also hope my writing speed maintains its increase to some 1,300 a day on average. 1,500 would be 6 books a year instead of 5, and with my present skill and resilience is the upper end of my capabilities. Who knows, this time next year I might be on 2K a day on average. I’ll never move the minimum from 1K, but I should always aim to do more, within reason and where it’s safe to.
For the first time in a while, I have my evening to do with as I please, and if I don’t get distracted a guaranteed early night. I’m glad I’m going into the home stretch in control. I’ve missed this feeling.