Fourteen.
One week to do nothing remotely related to writing. To clean out the creative closet. I usually repaint a room or tackle some mid-scale home project; something with a visible end result that'll buoy my spirits when I'm in the throes of frustration with the next book.
One more week to repack the creative closet. Read. Binge TV. Draw. Visit a museum. Amass the imagination tools that I'll need for the next book.
Then the outlining begins.
Dundunduuuuuuuun!
What? I'm all for Jeffe's vision of the Italian villa and wine-soaked nights for a month or two...or four. But that reality thing, man, crimpin' styles and cutting vacations short all over the world. Fie on it, I say! FIE!
