Divisions and Precisions

Who am I and what have I done with me?

I was freakishly productive once again yesterday. I started making dinner at 9am (okay, it involved throwing chicken and Italian dressing in a crockpot, but still!), then while cleaning out my wallet (freakish event #1) I found a coupon for a free drink at Starbucks. Since I haven't been to Starbucks in, like, a year, I packed up my writing stuff and drove to Ann Arbor. Oh, sweet raspberry white mocha, you are as good as I remember.

Anyway, huge massive pieces of background and political history are FINALLY clicking into place on The Exile's Daughter. I was barely able to write as fast as ideas were coming out--imagine if I hadn't been so caffeinated! (On another sidenote, since clearly this is an entry full of sidenotes: I'm starting to wonder if I had to write the first draft of this novel before I could flesh out the world. I can't imagine being able to figure all this stuff out if I didn't already know my characters and plot so well.)

Then I came home, thinking I would probably fall into sloth. Ha! The aliens who have taken over my brain would not allow that. I kept looking at my desk, which had not reached pig-sty status, but was clearly becoming overrun by crap. So... I cleaned off my desk. But that wasn't good enough for the aliens who have taken over my brain. I cleaned out my desk. And organized my file drawer into actual files (which begs the question, good lord, how many copies of a single story do I need to print out?). The aliens were also eyeing my file cabinet, which ostensibly should be used as a file cabinet, but is currently serving as a giant junk drawer. Fortunately for me, I ran out of time and had to go finish dinner.

Today I imagine I'll do some more writing work, since I seem to be in the zone--but I do need to go grocery shopping... and the aliens keep looking at my file cabinet. They're also eyeing my office closet.

Somebody please, send help.