line of the day: It bothered me, the mess of it. The slick-slidingness and smell of it, too.
Ten pages a day. That’s what I’m doing. Ten pages a day. Day by day. And of course now I’m in the middle of a hot scene but because I didn’t get started on time today I had to stay up late to finish my ten and now it’s late and I’m too tired to kee going. Not so much that I’m tired NOW but if I don’t go to bed I’ll be tireder in the morning and then I’ll be worthless all day. And of course I have a chiro appt in the morning which means my whole writing day is pretty much kaput and I have to leave the couple at this point:
“Go to my bedroom,” I repeated and pulled the leather tight between my two fists. “Get on my bed, on your knees, facing the headboard. Put your hand on it and wait for me.”
But really, it’s the only kind thing to do, stopping right here. If I wrote more they’d be halfway through the sexxin’ and that’s just not fair.
M
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