12:34am. I am drinking hot Ovaltine and trying to decide whether to go to bed or to finish my chapter two, which was today's goal. I have about 13 pages single spaced now--ie. over 25 double spaced pages. I have written well, but do I deserve bed yet? That is the question.
There is still an entire, rather large, passage I need to write about the imagination that blurs the boundaries between fiction and reality, and the writer as wielder of the deus ex machina. I'm fairly certain this all makes sense to no one else but myself...
Oh, I love this feeling of having written all day. What satisfaction! Thank GOD for the outline I created last weekend. I've re-arranged it a bit but it has kept me from the swampy morass of complete organic sprawl. There is a bit of architecture here.
Too bad we're almost out of milk. I'd like some more Ovaltine...
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