Can't lie, I got absolutely nothing done yesterday!

It was worth it though, because two of my best friends came up from Chicago to visit. We didn't do anything in the category of terribly interesting, but we watched a pilot episode of one of my favorite series, my mom cooked us a great dinner, and I introduced them to good ol' Wisconsin custard. (Note: If you haven't tried it, it's a million times better than ice cream. Go get some. Now!) 

But no worries, because the day before that (gonna be honest, don't remember which day of the week that was) I got a WHOLE LOT done. How much, you ask? Did you finish chapter ten, you ask? 

A damn lot, and no. 

I've been working more and more on chapter eleven, which to me is really exciting and hard at the same time (you'll know once you've read it), and I couldn't bring myself to look at chapter ten again, partially because it was a trifle boring to write it. Stuff happens, but the stuff that happens makes me angry and nervous so I don't really want to put my whole heart into it. As most of you know, there's a lot that should technically make one angry and nervous, but this chapter is... well, different. 

It worries me, because one, each chapter has its own feel to me, almost like a separate story altogether, and I don't yet know how they work as one cohesive concept. Two, I'd always made up in the back of my mind that I would separate the chapters more once I finished the book... Just because as a reader, I HATE long chapters with a vengeance because it's hard for me to stop in the middle of things. But now it's getting more and more difficult to imagine this as more than a fifteen chapter (possibly less) monstrosity.

On a cooler note (for me, not you) I am on a reading high. Which is why I've gotten absolutely NO writing done today (I'll get to it eventually). I'm reading a vampire series (surprise surprise) that's actually good (surprise surprise). In high school I vowed (expected) that I would never be able to bring myself to leave the young adult section of books, and though that's true, I've lately been reading "deeper, more mature" novels, like CS Lewis' Till We Have Faces. But my heart has apparently remained (rather obstinately, I might add) in the YA section. Apparently even the snooty English classes I've been taking can't rip the YA out of me. It kind of rocks. This summer will probably be filled with YA novels that I tear through in a matter of hours (I'm predicting I'll be finishing the three book vampire series in two days), and I can honestly say I'm excited about that. 

Now if only I could get a job to support my renewed addiction...