I wrote three sentences on Monday. I sent the sentences to Agent Lydia right away, fearing the worst. She said they were great. It was a major breakthrough.
I wrote another sentence today. And then I copied a paragraph from another document and pasted it on the end of that sentence.
Not sure what's next. An outline, I suppose. Then I'll probably have to check in to the Motel 6 again, lock myself up, so to speak, and gitter dun!
This is how writing goes sometimes. Days and weeks of nothing, or what looks like nothing. Then a drip or two. Then, ahem, a flood.
Except it's not nothing in between. It's thinking as strenuous as weightlifting.