Yesterday I had the entire day to write. I couldn't afford not to write. Guess what? I didn't write.
I was braindead, the creative wheels worn out from two previous days of intense brainstorming and writing of two pivitol chapters. I was physically exhausted, the result of stress-induced insomnia several nights running.
Unable to write, I read. All day. Some research related (Roadside History of Arizona by Marshall Trimball), some for pleasure and inspiration (Dark Harbor by Stuart Woods). The day was not wasted, I told myself. A writer can't dwell in a cocoon of one's own stories. A writer must read other tales by other writers. Learn and grow.
So I read, I absorbed, enjoyed, and learned (hopefully grew), thinking it's okay. I have all day tomorrow to write. I'll write like the wind. I'll make up for lost time. I spent all day yesterday thinking it was Monday. Thinking today would be Tuesday. It wasn't until very late last night that I saw something that triggered the realization that today would be Wednesday!
I lost an entire day somewhere. The Deadline Haze, I'm calling it. (Cue Twilight Zone theme song)
So I don't have all day to write and catch up. I work at the library today. Because it's Wednesday.
This morning I told Steve I want a weekend at Disney World for my birthday (which isn't until the fall). A weekend of pure escapism. I'm thinking I should've asked for a time machine so I can go back and relive days lost in... The Deadline Haze.