After a furious two weeks of activity I am mentally exhausted. I serve in a sales management role and February is end of year for my company. Needless to say that is brisk. For some reason during that time I decided to start a diet, two new short stories, resume editing my current MS with help from a friend, finished edits on and submited a short story and wrapped up final planning for the writing retreat I am hosting in April. I am not certain that is everything going on, but it is what my current wafer of cognitive ability can sustain.
At this point all I really want to do is play with my lower lip, watch Art of Noise videos on Youtube and make “Booping” noises. Yes.
So with all that mental wear and tear why am I starting at a story and trying to write? Have I finally crossed over into the final stages of mental illness we call writing? I fear so…
On the upside this is Friday and this weekend I am going to bo some yardwork and possibly take the twins to a local renaissance faire.
There will be turkey legs I tell you!
Now, back to this story about a Troll in Brooklyn… (please don’t let it be a novel, please don’t leve it be a novel, please don’t let it be a novel)