What a Difference a Day (Possibly) Makes

I woke this morning with a sense of direction. Then I lost it. Then I found it again, but for something else. Also found was the strength (or is it foolish naivete) to face again the Problem of the Novel. In the fall I will be sending it out, depending of course on a waiting answer from an agent, and you know what?, I think at that point no answer will become the answer—and no amount of ignored queries can keep me from seeing the truth in that. Today I put together an excerpt from the novel and emailed it to my other half who proceeded to IM me lines from the chapter with comments like “incredible” and “you are amazing”—and he made me blush and I reminded him I think the same about him. Last night I had hope for the story I’ve been working on. Today I don’t want to look at it. I don’t much like it anymore, even though I thought that it had so much potential last night. And so it goes. Also today I decided that I want to write two new books immediately and in a random coincidence they are both titled with people’s names. One is for grown-ups, and one is for teenagers, and I have given myself a deadline for the first draft of one, which is the very last day of this year. Which means I will need to start writing before work again, those early-early mornings from which I emerge breathless, and the next 8, 9, 10 hours at my day job seem more bearable because I wrote that day. I hope, tomorrow, I still have this motivation.

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