On Wednesday I told myself that I was too tired to write, which was a lie, and watched "Raising Hope" and "The Event" instead.
On Wednesday I was: a wannabee.
On Thursday, I started writing still high from the adrenaline rush of my son walking into my office with a dying bird in his hand (self, meet ceiling). I thought I'd be able to go for three hours, but as the adrenaline rush faded, I started to flag. I worked from 8:45 to 10:00 pm and finished seven character sheets, completing step 4 of the Marshall Plan.
Thursday I was: a writer.
Tonight I start on the plotting. That has me scared to death because I'm afraid that my plot, which seems decent right now, will fall apart once I try to put it into 48 six-page sections. Heck, maybe the whole Marshall Plan will end up being totally useless, but what do I have to lose by trying it?