The writer is brain-fried. Too much Real Life has been happening for the last week and I’m doing well to remember where I put the books I’m reading. Not to mention where I was in them, or the notes I wanted to copy from The Grand Turk, or the points I wanted to discuss on the book club about The End of the World is Just Beginning, or… well, the romance novel at least is no problem, since it requires very little significant brain activity, but if I’d known how this week was going to go I’d have picked one of the Georgette Heyers I’ve already memorized for my escape reading. And it hasn’t really been that bad a week; it’s just that my tolerance for things like medical procedures and family fights is way, way down. A little of that stuff can derail me for a day and a half. And there’s been a lot of it lately.
So all I have to say about writing is that Sarah’s post two days ago was right… almost. Yes, you have to do it. But sometimes you can’t.
Oh, and I’m stealing Amanda’s snarly cat picture because it’s the way I feel and because I also can’t do images right now.