Before there was a small chance of it, but now I think that it is certain. I spent the majority of today writing and putting the finishing touches on my pages for the Manuscript Mart aspect of The Muse and The Marketplace; I’ve just now come from Keith’s study, where I giggled a lot and possibly said something like, “I think it’s done and I think it might even be good, or parts of it might be good, and now I think we have to do something like jump up and down and dance around.” After we did that, I then twisted up my fingers and possibly said something like, “Actually, it might not be good, and it might really just be poorly written and adolescent and amateurish, and now I think I need something like a proper hug.” Then I promptly burst into tears. That part I am sure of.
Keith, sadly, is quite used to these sorts of outbursts from me. During the entire month that I’ve been preparing my pages, he’s had to deal with me frantically rushing into the study and blurting out with statements such as, “I need to to say something and I need you not to talk, because I think that this is the stupidest thing I have ever, ever done and I can’t believe you didn’t try and talk me out of it.” Sometimes I would even barge in to throw myself onto the sofa and yell at the ceiling about the pros and cons of first-person narrative versus third-person omniscient before leaping up and storming out again. Not only did Keith have to endure that, but also my distracted, sub-par cooking.
So. I have learned from this the following: writing is still fun. Seriously. I may have come close to driving my husband permanently into his study, and I have most assuredly lost any shred of sanity I may have had left. But I think it may have been worth it.