You know you've been watching too much Lost when you dream that you're both yourself and Jack Shepard the same night that your husband dreams he's Locke. (And don't ask why I was Jack instead of one of the women...I have gender-bending dreams a lot.)
After such a productive week last week, I had the mid-manuscript slumps hit me, right around 4pm on Friday. It's not writer's block, per se...
It's more of a feeling of ennui about my writing.
To help myself feel better, as I'm reading A Place to Come To, by Robert Penn Warren (who is admittedly a genius of literature), I'm dissecting the novel with a contemporary editorial eye. I would cut a lot of those paragraphs, Robbie. Just sayin'. But the novel is a Southern bildungsroman like I like to think mine is, so I'm hoping it's going to make me feel inspired.
Maybe this afternoon I'll watch A Love Song for Bobby Long and drink amaretto sours. (Seriously, you should watch that movie. It's amazing.)
Help me fall back into like with my novel! (It doesn't have to be love--it could even be flirtation or just lust!)
Otherwise this happens:
