Rainy Day

After a while, oh say a 12-hour writing day, your body gets sorta mad at you. I need to pay more attention. Today is the frustrating, must slog through it day. We are going to swim tonight and I think that will clease the negativity from me.
I miss my family!
I don't understand why my novel contradicts itself -- very disobediant!
I want to know why something I think (gorgeously) in my head looks so inane on paper!
But that's just it, isn't it? To really do well at anything you have to push past the "honeymoon stage" and keep going even when it's tough. That's why I never continue to run. I go the first time and think, "Good GRIEF am I sporty! I rock!" But then the second time, I'm sore and slow and I think, "I was made to read books, not exercise."
I just cannot do that here. Must keep going.
Freewoman's novel is taking beautiful shape (just think -- it began, when we first arrived in Ouray, as nothing more than an IDEA. That's the real magic, the something from nothing. Pulling a rabbit from a hat is nothing. Pulling a fully formed narrative is impressive!) Her characters enact a present day myth with concerts, weddings, disappointments and poetry readings. The best scene yet is a description of one of the main characters Eydie making eggs for a young musician (these are the present day versions of Eurydice and Orpheus.) You have never read something so delicious as this particular passage.