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Dad has been using the Net connected computer all day for days on end, so chance to actually do the things I've been accustomed to doing (like checking email) has been severely limited. No matter, Dad's finished for the day, and I'm typing celebrations on a computer that is about to wheeze its last on me.
I swam 200m this morning, which is lower than average, but the thing to celebrate here is that I've been going to the pool frequently enough to actually establish an average. Good, yes?
This is the bit where self-congratulations go through the roof, but, damnit, Dad has no idea about slash so I can't joyously bounce off the walls at him, so I'm doing it to my flist. I wrote 500 words of my amnesia fic today. If seven words is good for James Joyce, 500 is excellent for me. And I know what order they go in. /inside joke.
I've hit the beginning of that fabulous feeling, rather difficult to describe, but where the small linking ideas, sentences, phrases etc come into your head and they fit like perfect puzzle pieces and you're sure for a little while that your story exists somewhere out there independent of you, fully formed, with you just waiting to realise it's all there (is briefly paranoid she just jinxed herself). Anyone else get a feeling like this?
I swam 200m this morning, which is lower than average, but the thing to celebrate here is that I've been going to the pool frequently enough to actually establish an average. Good, yes?
This is the bit where self-congratulations go through the roof, but, damnit, Dad has no idea about slash so I can't joyously bounce off the walls at him, so I'm doing it to my flist. I wrote 500 words of my amnesia fic today. If seven words is good for James Joyce, 500 is excellent for me. And I know what order they go in. /inside joke.
I've hit the beginning of that fabulous feeling, rather difficult to describe, but where the small linking ideas, sentences, phrases etc come into your head and they fit like perfect puzzle pieces and you're sure for a little while that your story exists somewhere out there independent of you, fully formed, with you just waiting to realise it's all there (is briefly paranoid she just jinxed herself). Anyone else get a feeling like this?
