The summer that wasn't.

This is the first time I've set out to write a novel over the summer and then failed. But that's what happens when your S.O. has major surgery and needs weekly follow-up appointments all summer long. Then you're tired, you're distracted, and you end up stress venting through art instead of writing.

But hey, my powerful bond with my S.O. is something that means a lot to me. We got through it, and that's all that matters. And, even with my muse dead of stress, I managed to churn out about 40,000 words first. Not bad, considering.