"I've got a new suit of clothes and a pretty red rose, a woman I can call my friend: these are better days, baby."
-- Bruce Springsteen, "Better Days"

I'm basking in the warm glow of a slighty smug sense of self-satisfaction today, having done my duty as a fiction writer -- I worked on my fiction today. Sweet. And about time -- it's nice stringing together a couple really good writing/revising days. Even if I did have to get up early to do so.

Here's the thing. I can't give up writing now, because I'd be an insufferable grump if I did. If I can get up and write in the morning, or squeeze in some revising over lunch at the day job, or just simply THINK about my work, I can handle pretty much anything.

A 220-page student guide using the wrong template that's due the end of the day tomorrow at work? No problem -- I already got the Important Stuff done today. The cat puked on the rug? No worries -- I wrote today. My car's a piece of crap and about shakes itself to pieces after I hit 60 -- well, that can't be helped...

I even added a new mini-scene to Dead Man's Rope.

So it's looking pretty futile when it comes to quitting writing (which I sort of wanted to do last month). I can't do it.

In other good news, Mr. Drew slept ALL NIGHT last night, and I'm thinking (fingers crossed) that he's out of the worst of his croup-related woes. He was still coughing a bit this morning, and we had a bad Robitussin experience before Lizzie went off to work (shudder), but the glimmer is back in his big blue eyes.

Whew. Nothing is worse than a sick child; not even Not Writing. Later!