It’s 9:00, and this story I’ve been working on still isn’t finished.
It’s 9:00, and I’m worried about the word count – maybe I should worry about going to bed…
It’s 9:02, and I’m still thinking about this story. I should take a break; I’ve put a lot into it today and I don’t want to overthink, overstress, and overwrite.
It’s 9:03, and I’m trying to think of a better word than “overwrite.” Is there such a thing? I suppose there’s not.
It’s 9:04, and I’m going to give my brain a break.
It’s 9:04, and I have an angelic voice next to me saying random words trying (and succeeding) to make me laugh.
It’s 9:05, and I’m still laughing.
It’s 9:06 and I’m thinking about how fast these seconds and minutes seem to be passing.
It’s 9:06 – ha, got another one in for this minute.
It’s 9:07, and I’m thinking about Mrs. Dalloway in the next room.
It’s 9:08, and I hope that there are still readers left.
It’s 9:08, and I mean not just of this post or of Virginia Woolf, but books: nighttime, daytime, all the time readers.
It’s 9:09, and I’m amazed at how fluid my thoughts are after a satisfying/fulfilling writing session.
It’s 9:09, and I’m amazed at how vivid and imaginative my dreams are when I fall asleep in a good book.
It’s 9:10 – ten minutes have passed. Ten whole minutes. It felt like two to me.
It’s 9:10, time for bed.
It’s still 9:10 – there’s always time to be creative; it’s much more fun to pass time that way.