Are we there yet?
Are we there yet?
Are we there yet?
Sorry. Is it Tuesday yet? Is it Tuesday yet? Is it
Okay but for real it's like waiting for Christmas to get here all over again. I am a little bit afraid that my giftee is going to weep a little into their morning coffee and possibly not in a good way but at the same time I am way too excited to get my shiny new story. Which means, dear gifter, that if you're still in the trenches trying to dig words out of the mind dirt like wriggly little worms, afraid of sending in the equivalent of a mud pie, don't worry too much. I'm not saying rocks fall from the sky and everyone dies in my story (not saying they
don't, either) but if that's where you're at by midnight (or whenever) tomorrow just
stamp a smiley face in the middle of the muck and let 'er fly.