I may have mentioned that I rashly agreed to finish the first draft of my YA Fantasy by Dec 1. In order to do that, I will have to write every day (except when I'm in North Carolina, and I should then, too), something I didn't do, even back when I had contractual obligations (this book is in an entirely new genre for me, and it's been a long time since I wrote fiction at all, so I'm writing it on spec). The good thing about tight deadlines is that they focus my attention. The bad thing about a fiction deadline, is that I'm not one for outlines (unless forced to write one), and I'm generally happy to let the story develop at its own speed (which is always SLOW). But that takes time, which I don't have. Also, I'm very easily distracted, especially when I have a deadline.
So, I multitask- my morning runs in the park these days are taken up with plotting- letting the characters tell me how they intend to get to the end of this story. And that works out fine, except when it doesn't.
This morning- there I was, jogging along in my usual manner (read: slowly and awkwardly, very much like an old lady), mulling over the scene that I want to write this afternoon, thinking through what must be said and done, and what should be said and done, and what might be said and done, rounding down to the final mile, when without asking permission, my brain veered over to the Horseshoe Socks, which are progressing nicely.
Now instead of writing a book, I want to knit a Horseshoe Lace Triangle Shawl...
There is no hope for me.