Dear reader, please allow me to put your fears to rest by assuring you Miles and Kingsley's playdate was brief and highly supervised. I suspect they may be molting soon, so "friends as snacks" probably wasn't on Kingley's mind, anyway.
That said, I'm really here in a moment of frustration. This has been a quiet morning and I've had almost nothing else to attend to beyond the revision of my novel, yet it is defying me like the most recalcitrant teenager to walk the planet!
I've taken a break from writing for the past month or so, waiting for feedback from a freelance editor, and I'm now trying to assimilate her advice with my existing vision of the story.
I don't know how else to articulate this experience other than to say last night I caught myself envisioning scenarios wherein I was given my choice of a form of torture, and I kept choosing every gruesome option except for having to polish the final draft of a novel. I mean, drawn and quartered: I just have to be there. Confronted by a coliseum of lions: at least I'd stand a fighting chance!
How twisted is it I was actually consoling myself with these thoughts?!
At any rate, as you may know I have this weird anxiety with Tollipop...undoubtedly spurred by my little brother's mean texts, wherein I worry people will come visit and there is nothing new to read.
Please know this up front: there will be nothing new to read.
I've descended into the abyss of relentless agony, of the fruitless tinkering with a sentence for the space of one hour variety, wretchedly wishing to exchange my soul for a roomful of emergency swear vials.
Please, if you wish to see my life in happier moments, click the Instagram icon on the upper left hand side of this page.
It may be awhile before I return to blogging.