Up To My Wrists In Mire

As my fingers tap the keys, they seem to sink deeper and deeper into the mire of the story until finally my hands are buried wrist deep in it. But still I type. Words pour into the story. Clever words, of course, so clever that when I finally finish this first draft, I’ll hardly have any editing to do at all.
*Excuse me while I un-stick that exaggeration from my throat before I pass out from lack of oxygen*
I’m not even in the middle of the story, the usual slogging spot of a story. I’m past...