Today was a rough day, not going to lie. The words just weren't coming for a long time. You know who I blame? Me. Why? Hubris. I went out last night and bragged about how much I had written, how lovely everything was coming along. You can't do that, folks. It never works out in the end.
Another note: don't be fooled by today's numbers. I had to start over on today's section several times, and I don't erase any of the stuff I didn't like, i.e. the reasons I started over. Could be something in there when I go back over this madness.
Daily Goal: 2500
Today's Word Count: 3100
Surplus: 1100
J.W.B. 5401
Excerpt? Let's see what we got.
"Dinner was had at the house of an Italian ex-patriot. He was a brilliant chef, and a serviceable waiter. Doing both, he was exceptional. Myself, Amodile, and Louis were joined by another ex-pat, a man of Greek origin, with runaway wavy hair and eyes as insane as Saturn. Without a doubt, this man was mad as a march hare. The only other people at the cozy eatery was a small family of Italians, also moved from their country to the green of Goa. A mother and father, and their young, five year old daughter, who spoke as if she were at least twice her age. I tried not to be shocked when her parents pulled out a strange looking pipe, took some puffs, and handed what was undoubtedly the oddest pot pass I ever received. Taking a quick puff, I could not take my eyes off the little girl’s, who was smiling innocently, sweetly, as if I was trying Mommy or Daddy’s pasta. ‘Good?’ her shrugging shoulders seemed to say, and I answered her silent, unasked question with my own face. ‘Pretty good,’ I nodded, and she seemed to smile wider.
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