Today a vortex of need formed on my desk, fed by the questions of my co-workers. I handled it all with a smile until the end—finish line in sight—when my computer glitched. My patience snapped and I fumed my way through the rest of my work, making plans to run away to Colorado to make a living as a book writing tea farmer.
These are the days when I just need to sit down and write something murderous. Tonight I’ll be editing and rewriting more End of Mae and I have my axe ready. Someone is going to get all of this day’s frustrations rained down upon them and I can’t get in trouble if they’re fictional.