A draining day. It was so hectic and busy at the day job, there was no way to write until after work, and then I could only eke out 364 words. Writing is not a pursuit that can be done inside a tornado, at least for me. Those writers who swore it was “life on the edge” that enabled them to write had created a pretty little illusion to believe in, like a carrot on a stick, to propel them forward. Perhaps it worked, but I have trouble fooling myself like that. Tomorrow isn’t going to be any better. There’s a full slate scheduled. Not a very auspicious beginning to Sprint 10.