It’s so close to the end of the year, I can reach out and touch it. I feel like I should update my About Me—there’s something a little giddy about that list, blasé, that doesn’t feel like me any longer as I peer ahead into 2008. Also it’s out-of-date. A decision to rewrite a certain novel was dropped this year, at least in any recognizable form, and there’s something about trying—and trying—and keeping on trying—that feels absurd because how can you spend all this time writing and not be in any discernible place at the end of yet another year? Not being negative, just honest. I don’t have the answers and the year of 2007 did not yet provide them to me.

The only suggestion I have for myself is to write more.

I’ve been exhausted lately, which hasn’t been helping. Just really tired, and in the face of all these deadlines, and work, let’s just say I’m not getting as much done as I’d hoped.

I’ve said that a lot this year.

That’s not to say I haven’t been writing this year, I have. Just not the right things, I guess. Just not fast enough, not focused enough, I spent all day writing something yesterday that maybe isn’t even what it’s supposed to be, I don’t know, I can’t see straight right now. It felt good though, yesterday’s writing spree, but when you spend all your time writing and nothing comes of it perhaps it’s like gardening when it’s very likely all your plants will die. Digging in the dirt just has to be enough for you, because you probably won’t get your cherry tomatoes. Problem is I really love cherry tomatoes…

I’m feeling intensely discouraged right now. It’ll pass, I just hope soon.