This weekend I'm ass-deep in an editing project due on the fifth (one of the monthly publications I edit) and I'm behind schedule because of the holidays and because of my own procrastination.
One cannot edit for several hours straight without going nuts so I also worked on a new short story. The final draft is printing now and will go into the mail tomorrow.
It's a bit of crime fiction that I began shortly after my surgery, about a hitman forced into retirement by a quadruple bypass who has a zipper tattooed over the ten-inch scar on his chest. I wrote the first 900 words back in September and set it aside. At that point writing was as difficult as wrestling mountain lions and I had no idea where the story was going. Yesterday I "knew" what needed to happen and the final draft clocks in at 2,700 words.
And today I have much more editing to do if I'm to meet tomorrow's deadline.