One of those days

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.



2 comments on “One of those days

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