Sipping my green tea (blech!) in lieu of the Kona coffee our friends brought from the Big Island this weekend. Is there life after coffee? I'm about to find out. . .
So I'm in that place where I know I will never ever write another book. Robin, Mary, Lee, and Thalia--my super group--have all heard this too many times from me. But this time I mean it (whine.) My intention this morning was (note the tense even though it's still morning) simply to write. HA. Morning Pages kind of stuff in which I whine and bitch my little heart out, hoping against hope that I'll get to some "real" writing before the end. I picture all my writer friends happily or madly typing away on the latest drafts of their novels, wish them well, and wave as they recede into the distance. Whine.