This has been a writing-marathon week, peaking yesterday and today, when I stayed in bed with my computer and only got out to do essential stuff like eat and read bedtime stories to my kid. Didn't even exercise or shower. I feel kind of disgusting. My daughter cooked dinner.
I finished another round of revisions and my book is almost ready to go to my agent again. I've given myself a final deadline of March 20th. It's almost two am and I shouldn't be posting on my blog, but I had to record somewhere that I'm done with this piece of the process--that is, until I get my manuscript back again from a last critique or two.
Now I can clean my house again, fix food again, pay my overdue bills, use soap, and put on a birthday party for my son without feeling like something's itchy in the back of my mind, undone, scratching for attention.
A short respite from the crazy dogs behind the fence. They'll be back soon, I know they will.
Imagination doesn't just mean making things up. It means thinking things through, solving [problems] or hoping to do so, and being just distant enough to be able to laugh at things that are normally painful. [Some people] would call this escapism, but they would be be entirely wrong. I would call fantasy the most serious, and the most useful branch of writing there is.
--Diana Wynne Jones
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