I've been fighting a cold for days, but it won. I feel like I'm living underwater. My head is full, my throat is killing me, and my ears feel like they did when I was a kid and spent too much time in the pool.
I know. Yuck.
I managed to shower today. And we've got bright blue skies for a change. A final kick of warmth before the cold, raw Ohio weather sets in. The trees out in the pasture have turned bright shades of russet, lemon, and gold. I'm most comfortable at my desk with a cup of hot tea. Pouring over my manuscript still occupies most of of my day. As I look back on the years it took to get me to this point, I feel all fuzzy-headed. Tired.
I figure it's either from the cold or another bout of discouragement.
I think it's time to get up and stretch, walk outside and catch an autumn breeze or two, and then refill my tea mug. Try to breathe.
What? I shouldn't admit to discouragement? Every writer battles it. Even the most accomplished. But when our bodies are down, it only enhances the feelings.
So we wait until our heads unclog before passing judgement on the last chapter we wrote. Otherwise, it might end up in the trash along with hundreds of used tissues.
Writing with a cold ... not a good thing to do. Maybe it's time to just curl up with a good book and read.
Blessings to you and yours.