I've left my heroine face down in rotting leaves, sobbing like someone ran over her puppy... WAIT... someone killed her entire family. I guess that's even worse...
And DD finished her seatwork early, so I can't write any more until later tonight or tomorrow. Dang it.
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I should be writing but I feel like someone drilled a hole in my temple and tossed in a smoke bomb. All my thoughts are shrouded in billows of grey, wisping by just out of reach.
Stupid hormones!
Who can pen prose when poetry is calling from the corner?
over 1,200 words is great!
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