Marilyn
Marilyn was just sitting staring absently out at the creek that ran between her office and the house, a cup of tea in her hand, as she thought about how the next few chapters in her new book were going. Some days everything just flowed smoothly, and she could work nonstop for 10 or 12 hours.
Other days it could take half a day just to get one chapter right when she wrote it, and was unhappy with it, deleted it and tried again, or kept certain parts of it and worked on it again, multiple times until it finally came together. It wasn’t as easy as everyone thought it was to pull a book together, and could take months or years of planning and plotting to get it all right.
She moved her eyes from the scenery and back to her laptop only to realise it had happened again. Somewhere alo
