One of those days where I’ve accomplished next to nothing on the writing front. Oh, I’ve frittered away time researching (*cough*) women pirates and rabbit diseases for my current stories. I did some editing. I made myself depressed by reading stories by writers who are way more talented than I am. I putzed around changing over my browser (since Firefox was crashing every five minutes, I’ve switched over to Flock, which seems to be working rather splendidly so far, although it’s not as pretty at The Fox). I took a two-hour hike in the sun and wind, got lost, got muddy and arrived home starving and panting. I have a toothache, which seems to respond poorly to hot, cold, lukewarm and sugar. I tried to download something entertaining to relax with, and the Scotland mobile broadband is now telling me that the file is going to take 9 hours, no, 10 hours, no, 8 hours, no, 13 hours and 55 minutes… to download.
It’s just been one of those days.
How do you deal when the creative spirit/muse/inspiration/work ethic is hiding under the desk, teeth displayed, claws stuck in the carpet, refusing to come out? Do you just throw the day away (figuratively, of course) ala Scarlet and say, “Tomorrow is another day”? Or do you plow through despite all signs pointing toward no?
I think I’m about to take the former route. Maybe splurge on a second mocha. Drool over at sexy things at Etsy. Take a bath or a nap. Call a friend and lament over the lack of words. Walk down to the beach and listen to the waves roll in and be reminded that nothing, not even a day like this, is forever.