There’s a point in a book where everything ceases but the book. Oh I do things. Normal mundane things like… get up, brush my teeth, do some graphic work for a few hours and all of that but my world literally revolves around the back end of a story I can never seem to get right. Or at least that’s how it feels when I’m in the middle of it.

The cat takes up her perch on my desk.. and it’s a rolling desktop table so her weight on that end probably isn’t good for the table. She’s not the most svelte and delicate of cats. I fight her for a few inches and then eventually move the laptop over to the far right which makes me sit a bit oddly but it’s always a losing battle. Putting her down will bring her right back. It’s just easier to move the laptop.

This is the time in a book where I lose hear/here, their/they’re/there and my speech patterns creep further into the narrative than they should. English becomes a very foreign language and I drink more coffee than I should. And probably should eat less quick carbs and more protein than I do.

I forget to step away and I feel guilty for taking the time if I do.

BUT I do have visual breaks. In the search of these sometimes leads me to wonderful, impossible things.

Like Sky Whales.