The challenge with trying to crank out a book about love and relationships in a month is that it requires a whole lot of deep thinking. And this isn't even that kind of book. This is a book that makes fun of my inability to engage in a civilized conversation without swear words, my complete and utter lack of filter and tendency to self-destruct every time a decent guy enters my life. It is just this side of porn. I kid Mom, promise...sort of.
My brain hurts. I am tired. I just want to be done with this damn thing and yet, I cannot handle marathon evenings of beers and musical debates with my other comrades in arms. I do not have enough brain cells left. And seriously, do I strike you as a girl who knows shit about Zepplin?
So back to work I go. Editing, tightening up, killing sections, adding more. Next time I get a bright idea to try to write a book in a month, someone hand me a beer and point me towards some reality tv.