I am looking down at my hands and they are looking old. When did that happen? And how can it almost be July? Work has been quiet so I am happily writing several hours a day. Which leads me to the next question - Why the hell am I not finished this first draft yet? Yes it is more polished and there are fewer glaring cliches and missed words than the last rough draft I wrote, and yes I have been working hard - but it is still unfinished. I should be happy that I am at that lovely point where I can't get the words down fast enough and I am several scenes ahead inside my brain. But it still seems to be taking forever. But today I gave myself some slack. Backed up, patted myself on the back and stopped gripping. I had a horrible winter, my dad died in February and I feel like I have crept out of the deepest darkest coal mine. So today I wrote 2,000 words, smiled at my progress and went for a spectacular walk on the beach. Squishy mud through my toes and warm sun on my face. Lovely. Thankfully it's finally July.

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