Muzzy

Here I am.

My head is so muzzy with a five-day-old cold that I simply can't think of anything. I can barely see the pictures in my head through the fog.

So I have this story that I've been working on for...gosh, must be nearing twenty years. I love the people, I love the landscapes. I am just stuck. Tonight is obviously not the night to go for a visit, but someday I hope to move on from the stuck place and find out what happens next. Actually, I think I know what happens next, I just can't figure out how to get from the frozen waste of a particular important but impossible to hear clearly scene to the free air.

Until I finish this story, I feel like I can't really start any large new literary endeavor. And my life is pretty crowded right now so I don't have the time to really work through the difficulties, or to decide that the stuck scene isn't really necessary. It seems to be impossible to write a novel when you only have about three hours per week.

But this daily date with my blog has become incredibly important to my peace of mind in such a short time. It's good to be writing anything at all. Even when I can't think straight.

I think I am going to bed early tonight. Like right now.

Sweet dreams, all.