I am still sick. Sick enough that it’s hard to concentrate but not so sick that I am unconscious. It makes me antsy in my grogginess to know that hours and days are slipping by without my usual contributions to my writing or my home. As far as home, I have to face that no one would want me cooking them food right now. Nor do I have the energy to stand up that long. Which leaves writing…

I wrote 1751 words in the mystery/thriller I’m working on today. On a typical day, I write between 3000-4000. On a good day, I can get to 6000. Granted, this book is tough to write, but under 2000 isn’t much.  But today, I am grateful for the 1751 strings of characters. It means I’m still contributing, even though I’m sick.