Something has been misplaced in the house, and it’s either been moved by a butthead cat, or by a sleepwalking youth. I’m leaning toward the latter, actually, but I’ll be on edge until the item reappears.
I wrote last night with no television (and no fan, which has no bearing on anything except eventually I got hot and tired), and it went better. I knew it would. I started hacking away and got 500 without even trying, but then I got distracted.
743 fiction words, 966 total words
I used a trick learned from my writer friend Erin, and being so close to a round number, I kept on typing. I stopped just past 26,000, which felt good. I thought about trying for more but then got it in my head that I would write in bed (didn’t happen), so shut things down and went on up.
I’m going to start searching for the missing thing some more before leaving for the office. It’s just so strange.