Tuesday

3 a.m. Up way too early again. Ugh. Would love to roll over and go back to sleep, but there's music playing in my head- Lady GaGa of all things. Once I'm hearing music, there's no going back to sleep. At least it's not that danged "give me back that filet-o-fish" earworm again.

3:30 a.m. Cats fed, tea made, computer taking forever to load. Put emphatic checkmark next to "buy new desktop" on to-do list. Yeah, like that hasn't been on the list for the past three months … but every time I try to computer shop, I vapor lock when faced with Too Many Choices. Okay, computer's running. It's early enough that the internal editor should still be asleep, which means I'll skip the email-and-internet time suck and go straight to the story. Let the writing begin!

7 a.m. The unhusband grunts something that might've been "good morning" on the way to use the bathroom off my office. Seriously? He had to walk past two other bathrooms to get to mine. And I love him dearly, but morning guy noises = not very romantic. Continue writing but switch from love scene to a running-and-screaming scene, as it's unlikely that I'll be able to recapture the sexy vibe until he's dug into his own work for the day.

9:30 a.m. Go online to search for details on ballistic missiles. Wonder whether, somewhere out there, a CIA analyst just sat up, then slumped back down, shook her head, and said, "Nope. Just that author chick again."

10 a.m. Smack self in forehead as I remember that my Grampie used to design missile guidance systems-if he doesn't know the answer, he'll know who does. Email him at the retirement home-his addy is the tail number off his old stunt plane-and hope I'm half as cool as he is when I'm ninety.

12 p.m. Noon already? (Count Diet Coke cans.) Yep, must be lunchtime. Writing has gone well, but I'm slowing down. Probably time to switch gears. Grab food and head out to do some horse chores (blessings on the unhusband for doing the morning feed-and-turnout). I know the brain will keep working on the story while the body does other things.

3 p.m. Still not really ready to get back into the story (and I've already been up for almost twelve hours). Decide to do some promo stuff and answer fan mail.

4 p.m. Afternoon farm chores-and yes, I know I should be back to writing, but there's something still not quite worked out in the subconscious. I'm not sure if I've taken a wrong turn, if I'm about to take a wrong turn, or if I'm just being lazy. Hard to tell some days.

5 p.m. Start dinner. Somewhere between putting pasta water on to boil and starting veggies on stove, I figure out what's been bugging the subconscious, drop everything, and dash to the computer to get it down before I lose the words.

5:20 p.m. Smell burning veggies and bolt back to kitchen just as smoke alarm goes off and pets scatter.

5:28 p.m. Start over with the veggies, this time remembering to set the loud, annoying "capable of getting through to zoned-out author" buzzer.

7 p.m. The unhusband emerges from his work lair in post-work grizzly mode. Feed unhusband. Write excellent fight scene while unhusband does evening chores, with Bones playing on TNT. I've seen the episode (I've seen 'em all), but it's a pleasant background.

8 p.m. Unhusband returns, mellowed by calories and physical activity. Engage in good-natured wrangle over American Idol versus Nazi documentary, compromise on rerun of Law and Order: SVU.

9 p.m. Getting. Sleepy.

10 p.m. Go to bed.

10:15 p.m. Oh, crap. Not the filet-o-fish song!

--Jessica