As I said, I stayed up late last night. After I submitted my short story, I stayed up later reworking my query letter to reflect a recent edit on my manuscript. The lure of a completely silent house was too tempting and I could not go to bed.
This morning I was tired.
I walked into the kids' bathroom and picked something up off the floor. As I stood upright I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. This is what I saw:
|courtesy of legolas1.webs.com|
In all of this, I just want to point out the sacrifices we make as writers. BIG SACRIFICES. As in, looking like Wormtongue because we stayed up too late writing.
What sacrifices do you make to do what you love?