I'm still semi-lost in a world of no concentration. Fun. Again, I'm waiting, waiting, waiting for things to right themselves in my world. Writing suffers when I'm lost, but I try.
Tonight I got a bit down, but not much at all. Its something, I know that. Anything is something. Its hard to think that half a page to a page is anything when I used to do about 3-4 pages in a very brief amount of time and now... Its the same amount of time.
Tonight I saw a bit of the novel in my head. I found a few choice phrases floating through my mind begging to be written down. I wrote them down. I can still see the image in my mind that is associated with the words that flowed like so much poetry. Every sentence I write is important. I know that. Its not quantity. Now, if I could just accept that enough not to beat myself up all the time. 8)