I had an unexpected snow day today. I woke up and realized I should go to the doctor’s instead of work so I spent the day recuperating and taking it easy. No writing, no heavy activity, nothing too strenuous. So I took the day off.
Since there was no writing done, there’s nothing to report other than my eyes don’t feel like they’re covered in sandpaper and I still have a normal sense of depth perception. Oh, and my fingers don’t feel like limp little strings of cooked spaghetti. I forgot about these little annoyances when working for upwards of 8-10 hours a day at a computer.
While I was sitting here watching Criminal Minds episodes I suddenly had the urge to go through my box of inspiration. Nestled between old postcards from friends and family, newspaper clippings, pictures, etc., I found this:
I love little kid pictures. They’re cute, silly, awkward, and some of the the purest, most unguarded moments of someone’s life. There’s no posing, manipulation or ulterior motive. I love the stories and the history behind the snapshots. They help me believe that even if for that one second of their life everything was all right even if it wasn’t. I love thinking about the scenery just beyond the picture’s edges and what led to the photo session and what happened after. Pictures in general fascinate me.
Plus, I would jump through burning hoops to have hair like that again. And bangs. *sigh* I miss my bangs.
I can’t believe Wednesday is just around the corner and I have a ton of writing to do tomorrow which makes me excited. My day of recuperation was much appreciated and I enjoyed every minute but I can’t stop thinking about plowing through another few thousand words tomorrow and seeing where the story ends up. I’m really liking this routine of working in massive 6-10 hour chunks. It may not be as practical as working on bits and pieces each day but I really do enjoy have the luxury of huge blocks of time to really sink into the story. Maybe this is how my brain works best.