So things were going so well. All was blue skies and baby smiles, and I was marching along as the band played my favorite song, and then crash bang wallop, it’s all collapsed into a pile.
It began with my hands. I’ve been given a lot of freelance writing work these past few weeks, doubling the amount I’ve had to write from the 2,740 to about 5,000 a day. Which is fine, but after two weeks my hands began to ache, my forearms grew stiff, my knuckles sore. Not good.
Then yesterday I was hit with the flu, and today I’m struggling back up to the land of health.
The result has been no typing for First Million Words yesterday nor today, though I’m keeping my schedule by digging into my word bank. I have enough surplus words left over to cover tomorrow if things remain grim, but I’m hoping they won’t.
Anyways. This is just a roundabout way of saying I’m fighting the good fight, eyes on the prize, even if I’m currently watching the prize bob downstream from the comfort of my sickbed.