Writer's High and Love in Small, Quiet Moments.

Ha. After a day of moping in the throes of the Red Bloat, I got back on the ficcing horse and buckled down for 1300 words of fic. I hadn't planned on it; I had planned to faff about and feel sorry for myself and bemoan the lack of activity on the Internet, but then I convinced myself to write just a sentence or two to stave off the creative doldrums. Before I knew it, I was 1200 words deep and on a writer's high. Now I'm spry and relaxed and ready for a soothing come-down of brainless, sleep-inducing TV.

Every time I think Part IV of "Detail Man" is nearing the finish line, Dean decides there's just one more thing he needs to say. And one more. Oh, and just one more. I had hoped to have it finished by Wednesday, but that's not happening. I really want to have it done by the weekend, though, because I'm still knee-deep in Flack angst, and Richard and Calliope have a date with the grocery store. It sounds romantic, I know, but love happens in those small, quiet moments. Besides, Richard has a yen to preen and strut and perform a courtship dance in the kitchen.

So there it is, and here I am, and now I'm not.