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Viva ing Las Vegas

I didn’t finish my 50,000 words to complete my ‘novel in 30 days’ for the National Writing month. My daughter was very, very disappointed in me.
Me: “Izzy, I’m not going to be able to continue working on this book. I’ve got 35,000 words but next week is Thanksgiving and the week after that I’m going to Las Vegas. There’s not enough of me to do everything.” I moaned as I yanked the turkeys gizzard from it’s soon to be rotting carcass.
Izzy: “No, momma, you made a commitment and you need to stick by it.”
Me:  “Errrrr ummmm. But I’m getting overwhelmed. I’m doing all the shopping, cooking and taking everything to the The Honey’s house so we can all have a family dinner there.”  I say as I stick $47.00 worth of grapes onto a fruit  arrangement.
Izzy:  “You can do it.”
Me:  “Errrrr. ummmm. I can?”  I whimper as I ironed the linen napkins.  (Which, BTW… was directly after I hand sewed the ripped lace on three of them.)
Izzy:  “You said it…”
The guilt of not finishing my book slapped me in the face so I typed away and got to 40,000 words. Our Thanksgiving dinner came and went. It was fabulous, the food delicious and nobody killed anybody. Maybe I could finish my manuscript before I went to Vegas? Did I really need to go to Vegas? Shouldn’t I stay home and peck endlessly for hours on end to finish my novel in a month?  Wouldn’t that be the more mature thing to do?



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