Writing over the course of the last two weeks has been at a virtual standstill. It's not that I don't want to progress on Ticket Agent's first draft; I do. I should be closing in on 40,000 words--novel-sized!--and nearing the halfway point by now. Pushing back the first-draft writing means other tasks--reading Beach Blanket Bloodshed before writing the blurb and uploading it for pre-order, doing the first full read-through of The Peg-Legged Privateer, writing all of the other projects filling my head--gets pushed back, too.
And there's a reason for that.
Welcome to the Noble House of Plague.
Yup. Whatever has been floating around Massachusetts lately has invaded the Farm, attacking its human denizens with the force of a shovel swung against a cranium. It swept in slowly, at first; I found myself sneezing quite a bit before aches and chills followed. Soon, I had a nose full of snot--I know, great visual--and lo and behold, Jen followed. In that time, I tried to write, even if it was just a page. Afterward, I felt as though I had run a marathon. We went through four boxes of tissues in just over a week.
Tired of feeling ill, I recently went to my doctor. The verdict: sinus infection. Meds for a week and a half. Jen went to hers the next day: bronchitis.
So to say we haven't gotten too much done over the course of the past two weeks is an understatement, and hopefully we'll be able to catch up on certain chores this coming week.
However, I am feeling better. I'm still coughing, but my head isn't filled with fifty pounds of yellow mucus any longer. The hope is I'll get to write a little this afternoon and a little tomorrow, but more than likely Monday is the best-case scenario to get back to Jaclyn's world.