Today was supposed to be the day where we de-Christmased the house and I rewrote my first scene, since I finally know enough about this story to be dead certain I began in the wrong spot.
Life had other plans, in the form of a long search for our little Houdini, Zippy, who capitalized on an unguarded moment and an unlocked back gate someone had left ajar in the back yard and vanished into thin air. Eventually (while we were all frantically out looking) the little squirt came home on her own no worse for wear.
Then, while dealing with what should have been a minor issue in the attic, we ruptured a hose containing gallons of disgusting, goopy black water, which soaked my husband, me, a wall, and the carpet beneath the attic hatch.
No fun, any of it, but life comes along every now and then and knocks you the heck off your horse. Sometimes, it repeatedly comes charging forth, and you get darned sick of picking yourself back up.
But if you're a writer, that's what you do. As many times as it takes. Whether you're hit with personal or family illness, a child's issues, career set-back, or any other mayhem, you climb back to your feet the next day and say, "I'm doing this."
So here's hoping for a calmer tomorrow, and that I'll never reach the point when I say, "You know what. To heck with this."
Hope you all are having a much smoother Saturday!
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