This stupid book meets it's end at a writer's retreat

I'm on my first writer's retreat. I might have been on writer's retreats before - but not like this. This shit is hard core. Christine D'Abo has written 12,000 words. Twelve thousand. Come on!?

I finished my manuscript and it met it's fitting end up here. I've been head down with this book for months, ripping out the guts and putting them back in. Stressing, stressing, stressing every step of the way - working late at night. Not going to the gym because there's been this internal drive to get back to the book.

And I think this book has changed my process. It's been really painful every step of the way and I'm hoping it will get less painful, but I think I'm better served writing these first drafts as fast as I can. If I can put my head down and keep the world fresh in my head, the book starts in a better place, no matter how fast I write and how bad the flaws are - it's still better than if I stretch out the writing of the first draft. Which will leave me more time to let it rest before my deadline, which I'm also going to use. So maybe I can get back to the gym next week. And clean my house. And talk to my children...

Just when I had some nice life/writing balance, this book came and ruined it.

Oh, and we saw Hunger Games. Totally satisfying.