That's where I'm at right now.
My ideas suck. My writing sucks. The weather, while sunny, is cold as a well-digger's ass (or as my brother used to say: "a witches *** in an iron bra"--couldn't bring myself to type that three letter word for some reason).
My kids have been sick. I've been sick. My wife has been sick.
I've had a deluge of short-listed "no thanks" rejections this week. Ouch. Ouch! OUCH, already!
One would think I could channel this suck into a good story, right? My brain it seems, has decided to switch into "stop writing" mode. I had a number of delicious ideas for the pending novel last weekend...then *poof*
Okay, enough whining. This is the plan: write chapter one of The New BookTM; share the first part of "The Hustle" on Friday (A rather pulpy story which was orphaned when From the Asylum went belly-up.I don't have the desire to seek a new home for it...my loss = your gain).
I can do this.
Thanks for listening.