I write the yawns…
…that make me yawn. Specifically, just writing the word yawn makes me yawn. Seriously. Even just now I did it. Twice. Same with reading. Nothing to do with tiredness, either, because it happens even if I’ve just had a cup of black tea (like now). Does that happen to anybody else?
Hm. It could just be my writing produces that kind of . . . let’s call it visceral* . . response.
Anyway, a bit of writing this morning — yawn** — was actually future book productive, as one of the new-ish characters in this story will apparently be playing an ongoing role in the series, which is — yawn*** — cool to see. It gives the stories and the world(s) more depth and realism.
At least it feels that way to me, but then again, I’m also apparently physically incapable of resisting a yawn****, so perhaps I’m not seeing things too clearly through my squinted eyes…
** Because I just re-read the beginning of the post. Crazy, no?
*** Yep, again. I wonder if this is a known condition.