I was a slug this weekend.

And by slug I mean I didn’t hit my word counts. Now, mind you, they might have been over-ambitious as I’m working on three (count ’em!) three different books in three (count ’em again!) different genres, so I might have been overly-ambitious.

I didn’t do it. I limped along on one, ignored another, and barely got an outline on the third. Ugh.

I know I’m probably being unnecessarily hard on myself (says my logical mind) but my heart and paranoid brain are reminding me that I have readers to appease and I’m only as good as my next book.

Which isn’t written yet. Dammit.

This is the time when you have to push your self-loathing aside and just write. Just keep writing. Ignore what you didn’t do and work on what you will do. Or better yet, just do it and stop thinking about doing it.

Time to turn a case of the Mondays into the beginning of a stellar writing week. Off I go…