While I’ve been dragging my little writing wagon along gathering research and plot bones these past few weeks, I’ve developed a squeaky wheel.
The actual “writing” part of being a writer has been neglected to the point of abuse. No wonder I’d begun to whine.
So, yesterday, I hopped in my wagon and rolled down the first hill I could find.
Yes, I wrote. Nothing consequential. Nothing but dialogue between two characters with no names, but words were put on paper.
The squeak may not be completely gone, but at least now it won’t disturb the neighbors.