This week I'm working with an oil-based paint that can only be thinned with turpentine and the horrible acidic stink of it has imbedded itself into my nostrils. Ugh. I think the chemicals are burning brain cells, another reason I need to sleep so early. My brain says "waaaaahh!" I'm not particularly happy at the job site I'm working at this week, I'm actually pretty pissed at how things have transpired. I remind myself I only have to stay at this job site until my job is done. But I am pretty damn poopy pants pissed in the meantime.
I've been thinking about voice a lot and how I have several in my writing and can sway from one to another. In particular, the piece I'm working on now starts off with a particular voice, the darkly comedic narrator voice and evolves more into one of emotional introspection, with a little social justice finger-wagging thrown in. I don't know. I know what I want to say but translating that onto the page is challenging. And this, my friends, in why we have multiple drafts.