How do you think a unicorn starts its day?
As a kid, I wanted to be a unicorn. Sometimes I would wish to turn into one. Ah, childhood.
I don’t suppose I can be a unicorn and a writer. Unicorns can’t type. As far as I know.
Tomorrow will be a year since my surgery. Chemo is over. I’m still NED (No Evidence of Disease), and my hair is growing back. This week I went to work without my wig. I hate how short my hair is, but it will grow. Of course. I know that. But I really can’t convey how much I hate having short hair.
People tell me how great my hair looks short. Friends are trying really hard to convince me they mean it. Some even say I should always wear my hair like this. That’s never going to happen.
I suppose a unicorn is comfortable in its own skin. Don’t you think?
But aside from worrying about hair, I’ve been writing and drawing. I finished a draft (last?) of my second novel, Drowning Karma. And I want to move on novel three, which is a project I started last year, The Fairy Tale Asylum. I have part of the story written, and I want to spiff it up and get ready for Story-A-Day May. Do you participate in Story-A-Day May?
Cancer has certainly fed my sense of mortality. And in the spirit of I-don’t-want-to-die-with-all-these-half-written-manuscripts-unfinished, my goal this year is to get through as many of my rough drafts as possible. One down. Many more to go.