I just finished a marathon, a marathon of reading — through 220 pages of notes, single-spaced, on my current novel project. They date back as far as February 2001!

Lots of despair in there. One note says: I hate having a vision in my mind’s eye of what this novel should be, but feeling with every draft – despite how much I might have felt at moments I was getting closer to it – that in the end that perfect, wonderful thing it could be has again eluded me. And if it will always be this way, why go on?

But moments of joy, too. After trying out an idea for a change to a scene: It works! Yippee! 6:00 and I can already call it a good morning’s work! (Yes, sometimes if I can’t sleep, I get up quite early.)

Now, to read through the draft of the novel I completed just before Christmas. If a month goes by without my reappearing here, would someone please come dig me out? Thanks!

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