Some weeks things just go everywhere. A glass shatters, being knocked from the counter and there’s the crash and a check to see if everyone is wearing socks so no further damage can be done with big pieces of glass. We sweep up the glass, saying “that’s why we buy 20 glasses for 20 bucks,” but the crash still echoes and in the garbage, the shards remain.
My week was a bit like this. Holding on too tight, trying to get too much done and not feeling like I could stretch all the way to make it. But I’m here toughing it out. Realizing that I just might have bitten off more than I can chew with the next book, some parts excite me so much and I know in the end I will love every word of it.
So my writer self, wants the best for me, wants me to keep putting in the time every day. And I am.