Deborah Woehr

I had a bad moment on Saturday when I stared at my WIP, which I hadn’t touched in a couple of weeks. Plenty of scenes stirred in my mind, but either a) they had nothing to do with the one I was working on, or b) they were irrelevant. I sat there for several hours, trying to focus. I couldn’t blame the hubby or the boys for the distraction because they were gone all day.

Finally, I grabbed my pen and a pad of paper and took them into the garage where our smoking area is. That’s what I do when I get desperate. Soon, the words started to flow. I wound up rewriting the last half of the first scene of Chapter 14 because I wasn’t happy with it, finishing it yesterday.

I had every intention of starting the second pass of my editing for the anthology today. The anthology blog was up, and I had one of the files open. I was all set to go, when my Gmail alert bonged at me. To give you the shorthand version, I got very upset with my oldest.

When I get upset, I have to clean. I don’t know why that happens, but it does. My desk is cleaner; my professional blog has a nicer looking theme and a post on proofreading; and my red pen has been scribbling for the past two hours.