Last week, I was starting to feel worn out. This week, I do not feel worn out. I feel flattened, beaten into the dust and stomped on.
I am so bored with my book.
This week has been a string of uninspired scenes and middling word counts, although I’m still comfortably over quota every day. I’ve done over 2K on a back-burner project (after quota is met, because I am virtuous), and it’s so tempting to go work on that one instead. Look at me, it says. My characters are more interesting. My plot has inherent conflict. I will be a better book! And I’m sure it will, but dammit, I’m going to write this one first.
Just as soon as I figure out where I left the plot. Probably in the freezer behind the dinner rolls, along with what’s left of my brain.