Wake up. Feed cat, dog and goldfish. Tell 10-year-old daughter that she will get her allowance *next week*. Why? Because Mommy’s a writer, honey. Asks me if I’m famous. Awkward silence ensues.
Now, off to work!
Spend morning reading advice book from best-selling YA author on how to plot character arcs, both emotional and action. Review the *pivot points* in my draft. Realize that I forgot to have enough of those, and in fact, have no idea who some of these people are. Problem!
What do they even look like? No idea. Fortunately, it is now lunchtime. Warmed over chili makes me groggy. Need nicotine gum to get my juices flowing.
Actually write a few pages! Things are rolling along when ambushed by burning desire to check email. I have a new policy of only doing this in the morning and evening. Laughable. Nothing from agent. But…look. A video on platform-building. I really should watch that.
Resist urge to check sales of last book because I know it will make me depressed, but always hope that some miracle has occurred. Log in to AuthorCentral. No miracle has occurred.
Check phone in case I missed call from agent telling me a major publisher wants my mystery manuscript. No missed calls. It’s been thirty-six days. That’s okay. YA moves slowly.
Start imagining all the ways I’ll need to tear it apart to make it publishable. Must apply advice from book. Definitely need more character development.
Now 3:30 and I never did the yoga I was supposed to. Snacked instead. Also chewed way more Nicorette than the allotted amount. Will do better tomorrow.
At least I’ve figured out my main characters. Hate, love, love, hate, love. This will be the one that’s made into a movie and makes me a gajillion dollars. Must keep the faith and stay off Twitter. Too depressing.
Vow not to spend the evening doing this.
No wine! I will see a movie I can’t afford instead.
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