I think I realized why I've begun to enjoy cooking so much in the last six months. Cooking, real honest to good cooking, leaves you plenty of time to think while you're chopping vegetables, searing meat and picking out spices. It's been a calming thing, and it's funny that I would find that kind of peace in something I never really did before.
Making gumbo tonight. Faux gumbo. I've found a bunch of recipes, so I'm just sort of mashing my favorite parts from all of them into one ginormous recipe.
I've been writing every day and meeting my word count. Today I have to write 2,000 words, but I think I'm going to comb through my 26 printed pages and grab a red pen. I'm coming to a point where I'm satisfied with my storytelling enough to continue writing. It's possible that the reason I had a hard time writing my novel was because things just weren't flowing properly. I've been focusing a lot on authentic dialogue and making sure everything is... honest. I do realize I need to go back and show, not tell, in a variety of places, but my skill set isn't up to par yet. In 10,000 words I'll go back and see if I can't make it all even better.
2,000 words to write tonight.