Okay. I'm not on top of things, at all- domestically speaking. You should see my kitchen sink, the counters, the oven (where I hide whatever dirty pots and pans that can't fit on the counters). You should see my home office- but I can't even find the camera to take a picture to show you.
So imagine. Imagine a mess, every where you look.
It's been four, almost five months of this. It's been several years in the making: a character who wouldn't leave my head, ideas that came to me in the night, mid morning, and especially when driving- when I had to scribble, one handed, on a corner of a coffee stained envelope or sometimes even on the back of my arm, and try not to kill anyone at the same time.
But- I'm three quarters of the way done with the first draft.
I'm writing a novel.
And since I don't have a photo up, imagine this: try to envision my face, because there's a big grin there. Huge satisfaction. Not that there's days when I'm not saying, "Oh this is just plain crap, crap, crap."
But for the most part, I'm on to something. I'm extremely, insanely satisfied.
The house can wait. (Well, it has to. Because I'm the boss, not the house. Just a hint for those of us who sometimes getting a little obsessive about our cleaning. Comment here if you want any tips on how to let go- in that particular area!)