Damn. I spent a half hour this morning writing. I mean, I started on a roll, too. It was progress. I got maybe 450 words down. Then I went back to another file to check something (I use Scrivener), copied some notes to paste into my current file …
And it was blank! Gone! All those words I’d written. And Scrivener automatically saves every, like, 10 seconds, and saves on exit (I set it up that way), so it wasn’t like I could go back.
Four hundred words. And of course, real life–I had homework last night and tonight. Bottom line? I ate up my meager buffer, and now I’m behind. Sigh.
And you know who has been scarce lately. One of my writing sisters …
Crisp November wind wraps around the wall separating the alcove from the outside door to my writing office.
“Is that you?”
His baritone voice, with its Australian brogue, takes away the chill from the breeze he let in. “Yes, it’s me, love. You better be writing.”
He comes around the wall, rubbing his hands together to warm them. He’s broken out the fisherman’s sweater, jeans that haven’t faded but still fit like they were made just for him, and …
“Are those bear paw slippers?”
He lifts a leg to show me the paw print pattern on the bottom of the thick fuzzy footwear. “Like them?”
“Those … are so not your style.”
A grin stretches across his face, deepening the divot in his chin and lighting his eyes. “But they’re fun. And warm. But mostly fun.” He shuffles over to the other recliner, stopping to grab a beer from the mini-fridge before dropping into the chair. “You’re supposed to be working on your NaNo project.”
“Dude, I’m writing my blog post, which you were supposed to do this week.”
“Me? Why me?”
“Because you went AWOL this week. I hit a block, and where the hell were you?” I hold up a hand. “Wait, don’t tell me. You crashed the wedding, didn’t you?”
He sips his beer. “Why would you think that, love?”
“My writing sister, who I know you’ve hung around with, not that she’d ever admit it, had a family wedding last week, and you were conveniently not available.”
He doesn’t even have the sense to look sheepish. “It was a nice wedding. I only stayed for the cake, if you must know.”
“Sure, you did.”
“Did you ask her if she saw me there?”
“She was busy. Of course she didn’t notice you were there.”
He leans over to check my laptop. He smells like pine and the cold outdoors. I’m much warmer than I was five minutes ago. Except for my toes. They’re always cold.
“You were working pretty steady.”
“Sure, until the past three days. I didn’t even hit a thousand words.”
“You’ve got the weekend to catch up.”
“You’re not planning on going anywhere, right? I mean, no pub crawls with E or anything, right?”
“Nope. You’re stuck with me, love.”
“Good. Now, help me rewrite the stuff that disappeared this morning.”
I can’t hold back the sigh. “Will you please help me rewrite the stuff that some cyber dog ate this morning?”
“Much better. Of course, I’ll help.”
As long as he doesn’t plan on sneaking out again. So, my goal is to catch up to where I’m supposed to be this weekend. Next week is a short week at work due to the holiday, so hopefully I can go all out and at least give myself a decent buffer. If I’m really going, maybe I can even finish my 50k.
A girl can hope.
Happy Thanksgiving to those who celebrate!