INSOMNIA

I can't sleep. I've been thinking about the novel. My problem with it is that I don't like a huge chunk of it anymore. I love the diary excerpts and I love the photograph descriptions, and the prologue (save for some French language problems) but I don't like the rest. It's hystrionic, cliche and boring, suddenly.

I feel like I have to take it apart and put it all back together again. It's a huge chore. Similar in some ways to ripping apart my closets and apartment. Weeding. Cleaning everything out. Only hanging onto the bare essentials.

I really can't stand to write sometimes. I've read that other writers say that. That they actually don't like to write, but they HAVE to. I do too. But I've been spending novel time writing my blogs. Which I suppose I needed to do.

But I miss the novel. I miss it and yet I feel I have this sort of love-hate relationship with it as well.

Sleep...please...