You know, I never thought I’d be glad for a Monday, but I’m actually glad the weekend is over. It wasn’t all bad. My daughter’s birthday was Saturday and celebrated. We’re having a party for her next weekend at my dad’s and most of the family will be there, so it should be a lot of fun.

The rest of the weekend, though, was just funky. As in me, in a funk. I hate that, especially when I don’t have a clear cut reason for the funkdom. My usual process is realizing I’m on my way to ickiness and then I immediately get all analytical and try to figure out why I’m off my game. Nope, couldn’t think of a reason. I guess we’re entitled to a funk every now and then lol.

In the end, I think it’s just a matter of fatigue. Writing, no matter how much we authors love it, is still a creative process, and it can be draining. Factor in all the career stuff that has nothing to do with actually crafting a book and it can get downright exhausting.

So anyway, I took the weekend off writing which is just as well because I was in no mood to create anything but a new soft spot in my pillow.