On writing a novel, Entry #3

For a time, tonight, I thought that I couldn't bear the thought of sitting down to write. My excuses were plentiful and effective: I got home from work at nine, and needed to relax. I spent so much in preparing for and going through my peer review today that I simply did not have any energy left for writing. I have misplaced my chapter outline, and having finished chapter three, I don't know now where to go.

I also thought, perhaps, to cop-out by doing edit work, or by letting my manuscript "rest" or "breathe" or whatever other romantic procrastination I could think of.

But I found that when I sat down to write a small entry, excusing myself to my unreading internet audience, that I couldn't stand the idea of not writing tonight. I do not want to go to bed without 1000 words having been created, find their way from my brain to my fingers, to the computer, to art. So I brewed a mug of tea, opened my work-in-progress, and now go to figure out what to write.