I'm Fried... Can You Tell?

I spent all day writing. I have 12 pages. Doesn't sound like much, but I'm happy with what's there. I will not go into any detail about it. When it get's published, you can read it. That way, if you agree with me that it's mostly drivel, then at least I can counter with, "Yeah but at least someone thought it was worth publishing. "

I can't imagine anything feeling more vulnerable than someone critiquing my writing. Not even the pushing stage of childbirth.

But reality check: this purge will last approximately 3.72 days, then I'll be dry for another three months. Furthermore, once I put it down, it's not likely I'll ever return to it. For that reason, I feel I must not sleep for the remaining 3.12 days so that I capture as much as possible.

Speaking of which. I returned to my tome of last spring (the one that caused my summertime dry-spell) and re-read the whole 51 pages. Not completely worthless. Does need complete rewriting, though. Be warned - it is still sub-standard chick-lit. Ah hell, I'm a chick, right?

Hope springs eternal. Carpe diem, baby.