Since this blog is called the traveling novelist and is about writing, eating and drinking in France, I must report, in the interests of full disclosure, that I’ve sat here working on this damn book for a full four hours today and achieved absolutely nothing.
I am FRUSTRATED. Beyond frustrated. Every sentence I write sounds awful, the plot feels contrived, I’m sick of my characters. I just want to be done with it, yet I can’t come up with an ending, or final third, that I like.
I should just go for a walk, listen to the birds, all that, but I don’t want to leave off today knowing that I’ll face a mess when I return to it tomorrow. Days like today make me glad that I live alone–and no doubt cause anyone who has ever lived with me to feel thankful that I live alone. Days like today make me wonder why I want to write. But days like today, and I know this well, also make good days all the sweeter.
For now though, a temporary respite.