... five pages at a time. Now that I'm getting into the meat of the story, the words are flowing from my fingertips. It remains to be seen if any of them are worth keeping. Right now I feel pretty good--"I'm a frickin' genius!"--but an hour ago I thought that the whole project stunk and I should just bag it. Such is the roller-coaster of the writer's life.
I never did make that yellow cake with chocolate frosting a few weeks ago. Maybe that will shut my inner critic up.
Nah. It'll just give her more fuel for the fire. "You are barely literate. What are you doing eating cake?" Maybe it's best just to leave her hungry for awhile.