I have no workout for you today, for reasons that I'll explain. If you're jonesing, however, check out past workouts and give one a go.
Today, I am doing something completely indulgent and completely terrifying. I've been working on what I hope will be a novel but have been stuck at 30,000 words for a few weeks because life has been, well, life.
For non-fiction, I can write while all sorts of heck are breaking loose around me, not limited to the occupants next door to my old Metro Pulse office having what sounded like acrobatic adult activities* on a regular basis. But fiction is different because it's not comfortable for me. Quiet is required, as well as the complete absence of things that seem marginally more fun, like laundry or cleaning closets.
Last night, I drove to Northampton to see Brenda Dayne speak.** Today I have holed up in a cheap hotel room in order to spend the day diving back into this book and mapping out the rest of it. I think there might be something good in there. I'm terrified that I'm wrong.
Regardless, it must be done. I've spent the last two decades wanting to write the great American space opera, however, and now is the time to get serious about it.
There's a Dunkin Donuts across the parking lot should emergency coffee (and donuts) be required. I have the next six/eight/ten hours of nothing more interesting to do. With the book or on it.
* I still can't erase this from my brain, even now, a dozen years on.
** She was great - more later.