No writing. Pondered instead. I drank a lot too. I feel a bout of dontgiveafuckedness coming on. Bad timing with half a chapter left to finish a book.
I have this line floating around in my head: “The children of monsters are monsters.” Don’t know why, and it’s not that amazing of a sentence. But it won’t leave my head. I’ve written it in at least three different places. I feel compelled to use it now in my last chapter.