Is it just me? I am the only one this happens to? Sometimes I think my novel owns me and not the other way around. Sometimes I get a nagging feeling telling me it's time to stop whatever I'm doing and write. Oh the inconvenience!
In the early hours of this morning, four o'clock to be precise, I would have loved nothing more than to have been drifting away to Lala land. However, my novel would not permit such unholy bliss. I instead, was fumbling about my room trying to find a notebook and pen without the aid of my glasses (which are broken) or contacts. I probably, without the aid of contacts or glasses, have the vision comparable to bat so the mission from the get go was destined to be a fail.
I ended up finding the book but no pen. I searched blindly for a pen for another ten minutes. By that time I slightly lost any determination to write. My novel still would not permit me to sleep until every thought I had, in relation to some events I had been planning, were fully noted down .
Who wears the pants in this relationship I wonder...
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