Last week was nuts. Aimee's surgery, two forensics meets in four days (forensics: speech and drama competition--meets last about 8 hours+travel time=10-12 hour day), my mom stayed with us for the week, Aimee's folks stayed the weekend.
I managed 1,000 words a day on The House Eaters most of the week, eeking out a modest 500 on Saturday. I've crested the 24K mark, with about 10-12K left before I feel like the first draft is done. A respectable amount for a YA book, especially if I add another 2-3K in rewrites (which I am apt to do).
Short story burnout has taken over. The last time I worked on something longer (Rock Gods), I was itching to return to short stories. I don't have that feeling right now. I haven't felt this way for over a year, so it sort of scares me. Short stories used to be my oxygen.
What if all my ideas are gone, poof, into the ether?