Maternity

Last night, my mother arrived to do that which no one else wants to do -- read a ridiculous amount of single spaced pages, all with footnotes. She promises to tell me when she is confused, and write comments. What a wonderful mom. Plus, she is all cheerful and sane, making comments such as "Perhaps you should shower."
Mothers are the best.
We have three writing days, including today. I have to finish a long confusing conversation in a Winnebago, write a flashback section in California, and then give a forensics report. But if I can do all of this, I will have finished a complete draft in this time. Wish me luck. And don't worry, I wont let my mother talk me into too many personal grooming rituals that would sap writing time.
We havent' been listening to any music as we write (no distractions, no distractions) but lately I have been hearing the Smiths in my head constantly. This might be because I associate the Smiths with the unfettered creativity/depression of my teenage years, or because my characters have been a funeral for the past three days. I am finally taking them out of the funeral and into the Winnebago, so lets hope that the soundtrack cheers up.
Though what could possibly be more poetic than the line, " I wear black on the outside, 'cause black is how I feel on the inside"? Possibly nothing.