Some days (like yesterday), I adore my manuscript-in-progress. I think about it all the time, I dream about it, I can scarcely pull myself away from the screen. On these days I'll write anywhere between 7,000 to 10,000 words, and it'll scarcely feel like work at all, so deeply am I invested in the story, the characters, the themes.

Other days (like today) I find myself utterly terrified to look at the thing.

Seriously, I've been so bad all day. Everything went so beautifully yesterday, I should have leapt out of bed this morning, rushed to the manuscript, and breezed through another several thousand words. Instead, I've been making excuses. The dog needs to go out. The cats need brushing. The dishes need washing. I should probably make the bed now. Don't I have some edits that need looking over? Surely there's something wonderful happening on twitter! The bathroom needs cleaning.

(I cleaned a bathroom rather than write. What is wrong with me?)

I even drove half an hour away to meet my husband for lunch--partly because I wanted to see his handsome face, but mostly (truth be told) because I wanted to escape the manuscript, which sits in my laptop, accusing me in silence.

Often these scared days come a day or two after an adoration day--something to do with the balance of nature, I would imagine. Actions and equal-and-opposite-reactions, etc.

There is no moral or message to this post, dear readers. It is simply an observation. Please (please!) tell me I am not the only one . . . .