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I can no longer speak or write English because I have exploded my novel this weekend. EXPLODED. It's now over 12k words long. The order of the events makes some sense. I had a long talk with Mom over Thanksgiving about what to do now that I had ended the second in a series of 2 draining relationships.

"Do what you were meant to do," she said. "Sit down and write that book. Use all that energy for boys for that, and someone will come along as a result."

With the exception of an hour and a half having coffee with a new neighbor and my yoga class yesterday, that's pretty much all I've done this weekend. I'm depending on Mr. Right to magically appear anytime soon as I slog through this draft and then the next, and the next, but Mom is right - I should've been spending this kind of energy on my passion all along. Fortunately, one of my exes is a fantastic deadbeat dad character, so I'm glad I spent energy on that one.

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