Despite the dedicated procrasti-writing that I did last month, I did reach my goal for the second annual January Write off the Deep End challenge.
I finished revisions on Hell to Pay, started re-reading its predecessor Heaven Coming Down which entailed a few minor edits as well, and jotted a few notes about the successor, Rootless Trees.
Most importantly, I wrote every day.
Despite the trauma of losing my parents' dog Tara at the beginning of the month, a return of therapy for Casey, an injured wrist, a dentist trip from hell then book ending the month with a critical trip to the vet for my cat Hera, I wrote every day.
Every day. Even when it was procrasti-writing. That eventually turns into decent words on the page.
As my brilliant poet friend Jim Slominski reminded me, as writers we are ALWAYS (his caps)writing. No matter what we're doing, it's all absorbed into our psyche, which in turn gives depth to our writing.
Writing is not what I do, it's who I am.
I am a writer.