I had today off for Remembrance Day, and I spent the whole day in my apartment. I got up, put on some shorts and a really unattractive sweatshirt, made some coffee and wrote all day long.
I stopped for a smoothie break for breakfast, then a few hours later to do 30 minutes of pilates. I had lunch, but instead of the pita/hummus/veggies I had planned, I had a pita with 2 tbs of peanut butter and half a banana. I wrote some more, drank some tea, wrote even more, snacked on some snap peas and ... you got it, wrote.
Just over 8,000 words later, I made dinner. My 50,000 word novel project sits at a hair over 20,000 words.
It was an awesome day. Usually my days off at home alone result in me doing something outrageous like baking, and eating, an entire batch of cookies. Once I baked a cake (in my defense, a small cake) and ate it all for breakfast, lunch and supper.
I'm pumped that I wrote as much as I did, because I think I might be on to something. It might suck, but somewhere in there is a good story. I'm pumped because I stopped to do something productive, instead of turning on Gossip Girl and eating chips. And I stayed with what I had planned to eat, despite a box of cake mix in the cupboard and a McDonalds a half a block away.