It's a beautiful day, a real bonus day. When I looked at the forecast on Wednesday, today called for constant rain. I was relieved because I planned on spending today writing and that's a lot easier when the weather provides ample encouragement to stay indoors. Instead, this afternoon is calling for sunshine and a high of 17C. The only thing keeping my backside planted on a chair is my constant mental reminders that any trail I walk on will be knee deep in mud after last night's thunderstorms. Knee deep in mud and surrounded by bare grey-brown trees.
I can't wait for spring. I want to walk down trails and watch the buds unfurl while listening to birds singing their lungs out in a jubilant hormonal frenzy. Even the air smells new, like the world is taking a fresh start. But, as much as I want to appreciate this, I know today's not the day. Today's that tease of a day that feels so glorious yet looks like the back end of a camel with the runs.
And so I go back to writing again. I'm at just over 120,000 words (give or take a few hundred) and figure I need to edit out about 20,000 before I can start submitting it. I sit here going over each paragraph, line by line, seeing what I can reduce. What would make this line flow easier? Is that line, or even that paragraph, really necessary? Does this really sound like someone talking? What would Jessica be thinking right about now?
Meanwhile, a pack of chores are looming (metaphorically speaking) over my shoulder muttering "You've never been published before, never gotten paid for this. Are you sure this is more important than us? Is this work or are you just hiding from cleaning the bathroom?" It sure feels like work, although I must admit it doesn't take much to convince me to avoid scrubbing the toilet.
The good news is that after months of my page count staying the same or increasing by a page or two, I finally dropped four pages out of my novel yesterday. And now I need to publish this and go back to hacking out a few more.