I’ve been diligently writing since I woke up yesterday morning. I’m over 9,000 words in now. I know that doesn’t mean a lot to some people…but it means I’m almost 1/8 of the way through the second book. When I sit down to write, I suddenly become a crackhead; and my laptop is the dealer. I can’t tear myself away from it. I’ll wake up at seven am on the weekends and write until about three the next morning. I live off of three or four hours of sleep. Only because I love it.
Sometimes I have to remind myself that I have this life outside of my addiction. I’ll occasionally take my children somewhere, or go to the grocery store to replenish their supply of vital nutrients. But the whole time, I feel like an imposter. I feel like I’m a writer, trying to pose as this human that actually cares about the outside world. I try…I really do. But when you’re 9,000 words in, nothing else matters. You can’t think about anything else besides how and when you can get your next ‘fix.’
Here, taste the crack. A little sentence from Chapter Two….
“You asked me out on a date to your house? I got dressed up, Will! I want to go somewhere.”
(Tsk tsk tsk. Lake’s being whiney.)