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Listening to: Ludovico Einaudi, Onde Corte

Drinking: Hazelnut coffee

Working on: WIP5, the title for which is still floating around in the ether somewhere.

Another Write Or Die session, in what I intend to be a daily wake-up routine. 470 words in 20 minutes; a little slow, but not too shabby. If I could keep that pace up for a solid working weekend, say 7 hours a day,  I’d be –um, lessee– about 33,000 words farther along than I am right now.

And dead. I think I’d be dead too.

I’ll be modest and shoot for, say, 3000 a day. Slower, but I might get to see my novel published instead of having the DH come home from his trip on Tuesday to find me slumped over my keyboard, one finger pressed permanently on the spacebar, and him and my agent publishing this UF posthumously and then going on tour to speak out about the dangers of Write Or Die marathons.

… ok, so maybe combining this event with a large cup of coffee first thing is a little rough on the nervous system.

Anyway. Confession Friday, all shiny and new again. And my confession is that I ate most of a malai kofta curry and a whole plate of garlic naan last night. I’ll have to add an extra 10 minutes on the stepper and another 50 crunches for that little extravagance.

I have no willpower at all when it comes to Indian food.

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