Tonight there are no distractions. TV is off, household members are either working or sleeping. Even the whippet is curled up in a ball on the couch. Perfect conditions for writing. So here I am, distractible, irritable, tired, and headachy.
This is one of the most annoying parts of being a writer. Inspiration and enthusiasm hits you at inconvenient times and when you have a big wide yawning chasm of time available, you find your head is made of wood and the juices flow about as freely as a glacier.
It worries me when I've committed to a whole week dedicated to nothing but writing. I'm not a naturally disciplined person. I don't think many writers are. Not ones anybody likes.
On the up side. 20,000 words have morphed into 30,000. Oh alright 29.098, but that's close enough.