You know that icky greenish liquid that pools in the bottom of the crisper when you forget about that cucumber you bought a month ago? That happens to brains, too. And if I turn my head really fast, I can hear it sloshing against my eardrums.

I am four days away from finishing my first draft of the current novel-in-progress.

I know this because I am one of those pernickety outliners who plans exactly how many chapters there will be and how many scenes in each chapter and what will and won’t be revealed in each one – until, of course, all hell breaks loose, and my crisp, clean outline is suddenly so covered with notes and changes, it no longer has the molecular structure of paper. But you get my point. Four days. It’s all planned out.

In my husband’s business, they call the tail end of a project “crunch time.” I now understand that phrase refers to what your body will feel like during the process. I can’t remember the last time I had a day off. It’s been seven-day work weeks with double the normal number of pages per day for...I can’t remember...three weeks? four weeks?

But by God, in four days, the first draft will be done. And I’m taking a week off. A whole one. I’m not going to write so much as a check.

In the meantime, if you should find me wandering down the street, mumbling to myself and drooling, just turn me back toward the nearest keyboard. I’ll be fine, and I’ll keep working.