After a day's work and a two-hour ASL class, I find myself here, in front of the computer at 22h00, without a single word written today.
Time to break out my Writer's Emergency Ration Kit #1: Red Bull and Oysters. Here we go.
My characters will speak, even if they have to reveal their childhood sins at the most inappropriate time possible in order to find their voice. My plot will unfold, even if I have to jump straight to the climax and write the next ten chapters as a flashback.
I shall not rest, until I have won my words from the battleground of the deadline, and pushed forward yet another day. I shall drive that pickaxe I call a brain ceaselessy into the cold, frozen earth, and I will not stop until I break through to the enemy's trenches.
That's when I get serious.
Beserk with inspiration, I shall write without fear or hesitation, until I finally fall. And then, the valkyries shall choose the bravest of the departed writers, and fly them to Valhalla, where they shall feast upon the words of the masters, recite their works to the roaring approval of their peers, and hone their craft until the end times, at which point they shall be the ones to blog the apocalypse. Their words will shape the world yet to come, and it shall rise from the comment thread.
And hopefully, that world will find a better-tasting energy drink than Red Bull. By Thor's grog-bucket, that stuff is awful.