10,000 and counting

Yes, I did it today. 10,000 words of writing. And I wasn’t doing a ‘Shining’ where Jack Nicholson writes the same sentence over and over again at that creepy snow resort in the film The Shining. 

I was so scared when I started this morning, but then it all just started to flow, and all my troubles vanished, and I started to reach that place where I am happiest, seeing the words tumble out of my hands on a rubbery, clack-clack tablet keyboard. 

Yes, so the 10,000 words are completed for the day, and tomorrow I will be searching for another 10,000 words, and the day after that, and the day after that. 

I have lived a hundred lives and I want to get a black tattoo on my wrist in the manner of a bracelet that reads ‘survivor’ because that is what I am. And when I am writing my stories I feel outside myself, and away from my troubles. And that is good. My survivor status becomes unimportant. I am simple me. It’s humbling. 

I know I am doing a Hemingway here with my many ‘ands’ connecting my sentences, (if you haven’t read Ernest Hemingway, read A Moveable Feast and see what I mean), and for that I am sorry. It just seems natural to use a lot of ‘ands’ at the moment because I am feeling so fluid and centred with my 10,000 words, and I don’t want any block statics in my stories. I just want all my thoughts joined together. 

Let me explain before I sign off and wish you all well; my 10,000 words are my heroin, my drug, my alcohol, my feeling of otherworldliness, and without them I feel low, and serotonin-reduced, and depressed and strange and out of it and miserable. Without my 10,000 words daily, I question the point of everything. 

Last night I went for a walk about my village of San Jose, in Andalucia and there was a storm which rain-soaked everything, and then three rainbows appeared and I tried to photo them. Rainbows filled with love. Here are they, for you. Jo xx

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