Larry and I met to go over the last few scenes we worked on, and Larry read something out loud to me. Then he looked up. He waited a moment, then asked, “Aren’t you going to argue?”
I shrugged noncommittally.
“But you always argue.”
I screwed my face into an ambiguous expression.
“You don’t have the energy to argue?”
And I just really didn’t. I think the last time that happened, Reagan was president.
The entire month of January has been that way. I don’t want to get out of bed, I don’t want to talk to people, I don’t want to brush my teeth.
But I do want to finish our novel.
Even in this kind of an energy funk, my mind still chugs along, thinking about characters and plot and what happens next. I know Larry is waiting on something, and I have to sit down and write, and get it to him.
Pride is my motivator. Even feeling like total crap, I sat down at the computer this weekend and pounded out eight pages, edited it a couple times, and sent it off.
And he liked it. Mostly.
Now can I go back to bed?
The answer is no. It’s time to get Chapter 30 ready to send to our Critique Group.
Pride marches on.
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