Don’t get me wrong: I love the writing process. I’ve written fiction throughout my life, and I’m not sure I’d recognize my life without it. But…I find I’m missing those aspects of my life that can’t be conducted from a loveseat. I love that my work, reading, writing, happen there, but lately, as my dog realizes that the only way he’s going to get petted is if he cavorts at my couch-planted feet, and my son makes pilgrimages to the couch to have a conversation beyond, “I’m heading back upstairs, gotta finish,” this is starting to feel a bit limited. I need to get out of this room and outside and out of my head, and I need to do this soon, before my head explodes.
And now, back to the revision.
If I were the kind of person who wrote “Sigh” in the middle of prose, I would. I’m not, but would you take a really bummed emoticon? :(