There has never been a slump, a deep dark hole where I put myself into that the thought of books, of writing, of him can't get me out of it.
Tonight he wasn't much a part of it but my WIP was and I dove right into it and I forgot all about me, my stupid feelings, forgot who I was, forgot what my heart was breaking about, and my words, my plots, my characters just yelled for attention. Said get out of whatever stupid funk you're in, I need you. My book needs me, because there is no one else who can write it.
"And I don't mind waiting, if it takes a real long long time. And I don't mind wasting the best years of our lives."
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