I flop no more.
While I’m hardly at a full gallop or even a brisk canter in the actual penning of my first Cozy Mystery, I am no longer laying face-planted on the family room rug, four-legged, furry muse kissing my downtrodden, wholly useless face.
Nope. I am now 100 good words in, and that means I’m 100 words done.
Life is neither a marathon nor a sprint, it is a crooked man’s crawl.