Today was not a good day for writing. I woke up early, as usual, to do some writing, but a myriad of things required my attention, breaking my concentration. Before I knew it, the day had begun and an unprecedented number of clients called up, interrupting me every five minutes.
None of this would matter, of course, if I hadn’t already missed yesterday’s writing. As I aim to have the fourth Pearseus book ready by Christmas, this means I have to write 1,500-2,000 words daily to have any hope of meeting my target.
Then, I made the mistake of expressing my frustration to my wife, Electra. An expression of deep care and sympathy failed completely to appear on her face. Instead, she announced she’d be writing…
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