I'm amazed at how much fun I'm having writing fiction.
Longtime readers of this blog (grandma) will recall that I often whine about the difficulties of writing. I've likened it to digging ditches. I've written at least a half dozen posts about how I have to trick myself into writing everyday.
But since I've started this book, I can't wait to get back to it each morning. And when I'm at it, I stay at it. And sometimes I even come back to it in the afternoon, which I almost never did before.
Plus, when I'm not writing, I'm thinking about it. Playing around ideas. Jotting notes down in my journal.
Why did I put this off for so long?
(I've got 19 pages written so far. About a tenth of the way through, I figure.)