Diary of a whiny writer, D minus 62

What a beautiful morning!

Yes, I’ve come in off the ledge this morning. Give me until, oh, about 4 pm before I become suicidal again. Meanwhile, after butting my head against a section all day yesterday that I couldn’t make interesting no matter what I threw at it, I just said, well to hell with it, I’ll just jump cut to another subject!

It’s the equivalent of the parable about the novelist who could never make headway with his novel because he could never manage to get his characters out the front door.

The answer is: SCREW THE FRONT DOOR! One minute Dirk Dirkson is sipping cognac in his opulent Santa Monica beach house, the next, he’s swooshing down a glacier in the alps, an evil paramilitary militia armed with anti-tank guns on his tail. We’ll catch up with how he got there at a later date. Or maybe not.

Move on people. Nothing to see here.

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