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Up at five to squeeze in some time on my latest book before my daughter wakes up. I have a wheezing cough I can't seem to shake but that has been true, on and off, since October, so I just roll with it at this point. Time is especially precious because my husbad has just started a full time job, I am responsible for drop off, pick up, and meals from 7-6 and also I will need to find a part time job that I can somehow weave around my daughter's school, which runs until noon and offers no aftercare, so that's cool.

I am working on my adult debut. I think it's the best thing I've ever done. It's very complex and I am in the thick of a break-into-three that is taking all my ingenuity. The way I usually write is pretty recursive. I will go back over the last half chapter of what I've written previously, each time I start, to make small revisions and cuts and get centered before starting new material.

This morning went unexpectedly well. Had my music dialed in, getting into an important and emotional scene, in the flow, successfully not coughing too loud, when the power shut off. All the morning's work lost. I might as well have just slept.

My family doesn't read my books. My friends don't read my books. Most people don't read, full stop.

I don't know why I feel so compelled to write books, I only know that the thought of stopping makes me instantly claustrophobic, and that the days when I don't write I get way more depressed. Maybe I am simply unable to tolerate real life. But I will have to learn and fast, because I have not succeeded to a level that would allow me to write more.

The rational thing to do would be to give up, but I cannot make myself stop. If I try to "relax" and enjoy something else I get antsy and just keep hallucinating the next story points over whatever show I'm watching or my yoga video or whatever else I'm supposed to be thinking about. It is sick, I am sick. I have lost the strength to live only in the real world. But I don't have a sense of who I'm writing for or toward at this point, I am only writing away from despair, as fast as I can.