My muse hates me...



So I'm sitting here, writing to the point where Susan finds out Rien is a vampire (and her dead grandfather is looking on, too, which makes things interesting), and I think to myself, "You know, self? You have to write the sequel to Prince of Shadows. You also have Memory sitting there twiddling its thumbs and almost 140 pages long. You know, self, if you finished Memory, wrote the sequel, and finishing Absolutely Nothing, you'd have not one, but three books to submit at the same time. You know, self, you're almost done with the crafts, and after this weekend you only have to do one doll a week for ebay..."

Sometimes I hate my muse. And to think I was a bit down and depressed this evening. Sheesh.

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