44.2 miles to Rivendell. I've walked 413.8 miles since I started keeping track in January. Somehow, I feel like I should be doing better than this, but it may be Internation Be Hard on EBear day, since I certainly am also convinced that this novelette I am writing will never be finished, is boring like a boring thing, and lo, I am made of suck. I feel a little bit like the God Who Climbs. I have always been writing this novelette. I will always be writing this novelette.
By Jove, short fiction is not supposed to take this long to write.
And then, assuming I ever get to the end of it, I will have a Bad Draft, in need of extensive fixing.
Not a crisis, though, Just a normal part of the creative process. Why, yes. I am used to it by now.
If this was easy, it wouldn't be fun.