Because I feel guilty for complaining because I'm really NOT all that sick: only a light cough, mild sore throat, minor headache, muscle aches I almost don't notice unless I'm notdoing anything else, slightly stuffy nose. I'm really not all that sick. But man is it sapping my will to live and making me feel like a whiner.
And I have to get up and get dressed and go to work now, when I just want to go back to bed.
I'm almost caught up on crits. I may start doing a few pay it forwards, in fact. And there's a buttload of A&A mail to get through: we seem to have taken another jump in submission frequency. (Reminds me, must talk to Jenn. Memo to me, memo to me.)
Still feeling rather geeked to know what happens next in SM.
People tell you you have to write every day to be a professional writer. That's not precisely true, I think. But I do, in fact, write every day. Sometimes marathon sessions. Sometimes a hundred words. When I'm noveling, I try to get 1500 words a day on the primary project. And it has to be fiction, for me: blogging and correspondence don't count.
What happens, though, is that writing every day, once you're in the habit, becomes like daily exercise. If you don't do it, you miss it, and it starts to nag at you. Which is actually why I'm taking a week-long break from SM at the (mumble) 175K mark, right now, even though my guiltmonkey is starting to get a deathgrip on me. And I'm starting to itch. It's terrible. I'm an addict. I have not-writing DTs.
I have to let the well refill sometime, or what starts coming out is muddy and undrinkable. So to speak.
And now I have to go to work. Bah.