Thanks to frigg, I remembered to post a snippet. Luckily, I was actually working on my manuscript when she dropped the bomb that, egads!, Sunday had already rolled around again. :P

The sky was growing light by the time Sola left the residential area and turned onto a street that paralleled Procession Way. Sand tracked up from the beach covered the paving stones, grating beneath her sandals and forcing her to step carefully so as not to slip. Either the street sweepers had not finished with Procession Way or they did a shoddier job on roads not frequented by Open City’s richest. A breeze off the sea cooled the morning air and teased tendrils of fog from ground and leaf. The tendrils swirled around the columns of the small shops like the ghosts of languid customers. Sola stepped through them to rap on the closed door of Tiqao’s apothecary shop.

I have a bad case of Editoritis and am finding it very difficult to Just Write. I question every word I put down and the point of every sentence. Not a fun way to compose. I think it is the pressure of wanting to print out this draft, the better to work on it, but feeling it is a waste of time because I already know it needs an overhaul.