Last week, I sorted out a fairly substantial chunk of my room. I cleared out a couple of cupboards, got rid of a lot of stuff I didn't need (including over a dozen handbags) and managed to empty a shelf of several very dusty ornaments. This shelf is now gloriously adorned with books, making me very happy. There are still other cupboards and mounds of things on my floor to take care of, but I do at least feel like I've made some progress.
So, at the end of last week, I felt like I'd achieved something on that front but on my writing.... nada. This made for a very grumpy dinosaur, frustrated at the fact that - despite not being at work - there just never seemed to be enough time to do everything.
Fortunately, last Tuesday came. Ah, last Tuesday, how lovely you were! I devoted the entire day to writing, and managed to produce two chapters to a standard that I am currently pretty pleased with (although will no doubt hate in a couple of months when I read it back).
I can't even begin to describe what a joy it was to be able to spend the day writing. I came down for lunch, with the first chapter done, prancing around like a loon, on a writing-induced high, much to the bemusement of my mother. The same thing happened at dinner, after I'd completed the second one.
I'd been feeling pretty despondent about the writing thing for the past week or so (probably down to the simple formula of 'no writing'='grumpiness') and it was such a relief to feel that happiness again. It made me feel like this was the thing that I really wanted to do with my life. And while I know that I'll have to have a less joy-inducing occupation at the same time (should I ever decide to actually become a grown-up), I don't think I could ever give the writing thing up. Even if no-one wants to publish it.
I'm hoping to get another chunk done tomorrow. I have four chapters to go (plus a little tweaking of some later bits) and then this draft will be finished! I'm rather excited by the idea because it means I'll be able to start book two! Yipee!