(Question: Where am I?)
And rightly so, I find. When I occasionally emerge, I have little to talk about except the screenplay I'm writing, and when I talk the story instead of writing it, my listener (more often than not, my husband) invariably has issues with my plans for plot, characters, etc. Because I have respect for said listener, when I go back to the keyboard I have to battle not only the little red demon that sits on my shoulder, but the several others I have inadvertently (or is it inadvertent?) invited over for a tea party.
Thus in my cavelike dwelling I must stay this week, until I can emerge, full rough draft in hand, for my Thursday deadline.
I also recently had another conversation with a friend about writing, and the subject turned to blogs, about what it means to leave one's mental notebook laying about open to the public, and with what intentions a person would do so. This, too, has set loose some miniature naysaying dragons breathing little spouts of fire about my ears when I start to write. After some consideration I've decided that slaying them is on my To Do list.
As soon as I get back from the cave.