the vaporous novel

Gah. There are times the words simply refuse to cooperate, when every sentence seems banal or trite or forced or constructed, when restatement is on a half-holiday with characterization and plot somewhere cold.

Deadlines loom and what little I've written is so displeasing to me.

Can discipline really pull a rabbit out of a hat?

It seems impossible.

But we'll see (yes, that's the part of me that stubbornly refuses to give up just yet, but may be in for a reality check by next week).