I'm beginning to understand why writers are a hermitish bunch. I just spent the last two weeks revising just ONE chapter (#2) in my massive tome and I feel like I've been run over by a Mac truck. I can't even celebrate because I have 38 more chapters to go. (Yeah, yeah. I know. Use my marathon strategies to boost my endurance, but a little whining is good for the soul!) I don't want to be around people, I don't want to do anything else on my never-ending list of ToDos, but the thought of re-writing another word simply makes my body droop in exhaustion. I'm considering buying a wig and false teeth for the ones I keep pulling out in frustration.
This, my friends, is work, not romance. Fingers to the grindstone, then....
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