So I'm pissed at myself. Normally, I can rely on my coping mechanism of transference and blame my problems on others, like Blockbuster, for instance---I hate those bastards and you should too---more on that later no doubt. But it's hard to hate someone else when you're angry about your writing. Unless you use a ghostwriter and then you can yell at that person and fire that person or possibly kill that person, because hey, they're a ghostwriter after all. So what I'm saying is: anyone interested in being my ghostwriter please contact me.
To assuage this feeling of guilt, I'm working again on THE NOVEL. The novel I wrote in grad school between D&D marathons with Brad Land and Derek Nikitas. It was my thesis. I wrote two novels after that, but who's counting (here's a hint...it's me). So as of right now since yesterday I've written 959 words. That's a lot for revision. I'm basically gutting it and rewriting from the inside. Keep some of the frame. Over here's where I'll put the walk-in closet.
Let me back up and say that 959 words is a lot for me. For many of my writerly friends, they could have that knocked out in an hour, and that's the ones that have to stare at the keyboard and use the hunt-n-peck typing method. I am mind numbingly slow at writing. I fear other writers spill words down a page as easily as I spill my drink at parties. I belabor each word. Except for here, though I'm sure you can't tell. With me dropping any ole word here or there. Turnip