Greetings, writers—
I spent all day yesterday staring at various scraps of, and notes for, that book-of-my-own I’m trying to write.
I don’t know how many Good Ideas readers are old enough to remember when everyone on the playground was afraid of quicksand, but people, yesterday my alleged novel was that dreaded substance and it was sucking me down. The only hour of the entire workday in which I did not feel a suffocating sense of helplessness and terror was the hour when I was eating lunch with my friend. (Thanks, RC.)
I know what happens in the book’s beginning, and I know what happens at the end—but for the love of God, what’s supposed to go on in the middle? And how can I bear to write it? Those were yesterday’s burning questions.
They are—let’s be honest—today’s questions, too.
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