Writing, when I am on my game, seems so effortless…the words just spill out of me onto the page, and when I revisit them I find making changes feels right and I know I am doing what I want.
Then, when I am not filled to overflowing with words that want to come to the page, it is hard. Very hard. Torturous.
And let me be honest here and say that I am neither of these today. I am in this limbo filled with good words, but not great words. Filled with the desire to put pen to paper, but not the need. It must be akin to bi-polar disorder. Swaying like a swing between a love of words and a hatred.
I share this as a partial explanation of my absence (the rest of the explanation was ReaderCon which I plan on writing about soon), and to relay a promise that Olive’s next installment is currently open on my computer (I’ve already thrown away two different versions of this portion of the story, but I think I’ve FINALLY hit on what I want to tell you about her this time) and that I plan on posting it very soon.
Bear with me, my friends, I promise to provide.