Every morning when I first wake up (while Tony is getting ready for work), I lay in bed and come up with these great plans. Today I'm going to write xxxx number of words. I'm going to go to the coffee shop and be all bohemian and writer-ly. I'm going to wash some laundry. I'm going to...you get the idea. Then I fall back asleep and wake up again a couple of hours later. By this time, I'm sweaty and shaky and my stomach has gone south and I feel like I haven't slept at all. So I get up and take my pills. And wind up piddling around the house all day, hopefully getting some writing done, maybe doing some laundry, and definitely not going all bohemian in a coffee shop.
I hate these pills. Yes, I can actually walk and bend again and my spine will actually move without feeling like it's going to shatter. But I don't like those early morning shakes and the need to take the pills. I can hardly wait to get off of them. I will never do any drugs (well, the non-prescribed kind). I like to be in control of my own life.
Anyway. Tiny violins playing in the background and all that.
I actually lay awake quite a bit last night thinking of bits of the book that I now need to get down. Including, once again, unbidden...bits of the next book. C'mon, brain, I try to tell myself, let's actually get this one finished and published first, okay? It's a cute idea though. In this book, one of the bits is where she's complaining about taking French and that she doesn't really know any, but she discovered how to get by in class by just making gargling noises. More or less. So in the second book...she's going to, of course, be sent to France.
So I'm off to write up all those bits (except for the next book one).