My editor hates and loves this about me.
The words pour out of me like the tears that cascade down my cheeks.
It was just a tiny idea. A small pitch with a brief outline.
Not even two days later...and I sit here in the darkness kept company only by the words displayed on the lit screen of my laptop.
3 New Friends.
1 Blocked Dom. 18 Chapters identified and started. 172 pages of completed content.
If the words continue to pour out of me, this story will be done before my other book.
He’ll forgive me when he gets paid.
My eyes hurt and my body is exhausted from going through the motions. I’m fine. I’ll be fine. Someday I’ll believe that. Right now, I hate caring. I hate feeling. And I hate that I can’t force myself to hate you. I want to hate you.
I want to burn the house down and all the memories with it.
Until then, I’ll curl into a ball, slip into the darkness and accept the peaceful numb feeling passing out will bring.