It sounds like the title of a book and maybe I should write it.  Along with the twenty other story ideas that are currently running around in my head.

Is it any wonder I can’t sleep at night.

I’m working on the latest book and it is not going well.  I don’t have writer’s block, I think it is more a case of self-doubt.

This leads me to be over critical of what I have written and much pressing of the delete key.  Only to realize that an action taken in haste can be regrettable and makes me feel even more depressed.

I think I’d be happier in a garret somewhere channeling van Gogh’s rage.

Lesson learned – don’t delete, save it to a text file so it can be retrieved in saner moments.

But the truth still sits there like a parrot on my shoulder.

I was not happy with the previous start.  Funny that because until a few weeks ago I thought the start was perfect.

What a difference a week makes or is that politics?

Perhaps I should consider adding some political satire.

But I digress.

It seems it’s been like that for a few weeks now, not being able to stick to the job in hand, write something, delete it, write some more.  I don’t like it, but it can sit there for a while.

I recognized the restlessness; I’m not happy with the story as it is.  There’s something missing.

More handwringing, then I go out for a walk around the block.  It starts raining, and i didn’t bring an umbrella.

It doesn’t matter.  a light bulb lights up in my head.

I have to rewrite the start and add about a hundred pages because I know what was missing.

It really is going to be a long night.