Back to the Grindstone

Wait, I never left.

Seriously, this novel writing thing is either going to make me rich or kill me. I'm voting for the latter of the two, since getting rich isn't happening at the moment. And considering I need to both finish and like the novel, I'm not sure that it's even a remote possibility.

And now I'm just whining. People were even nice to me about the novel today! (Thank you Death Camp Writing Group) I still feel better about running around outside in the freezing cold with flip flops on for an hour than opening up the novel and re-typing parts of it . . . again.

Kempo has been like this too. I have techniques that I learned six or seven years ago. They're simple. How many “hidden” secrets of Kung Fu can be in a move with a block, a kick and a punch? Well, let me tell you, if I went into even half the crap, er, sorry, inspiration, that Sensei goes on about (most of which goes over my head, I'm not going to lie) I'd be here all night. Which would be a good excuse to not work on the novel . . . Oh! Distracted again. I thought I knew how to kick, punch and block, but some days I wonder. And please don't quote the “Your cup is full” line at me. Just don't.

I feel like that about writing right now. I can type a sentence, but are any of them any good? One out of twenty? Perhaps I need a new hobby. Or some chocolate. I'm trying to get un-fat, and the lack of sweets has me a little grouchy today. That and the prospect of fixing my novel. I wish I had a co-writer, so I could say “It's your novel!”, like people do with their kids or their dogs. Maybe next time.

Oh, and just to save me from a beating, the Kung Fu is awesome! There is always something more to learn.