Almost two years ago now I was deep into writing a novel.
It was not my first.
It would not be my last.
But yet here I sit not having finished writing it.
Sure, I made a plan. I sketched out the plot. And I got it about ninety percent of the way to completion, but then…?
Then I hit a wall.
Every morning, literally every morning, I wake up and feel guilty that I didn’t write another chapter in that novel the day before. Every morning, literally every morning, I wake up and part of me ponders if today will be the day that fact changes.
So far, no.
At the start of 2026 I resolved that just pining about standing in front of a metaphorical brick wall, a wall that I didn’t know how to climb over, or around or through was not the right approach either.
Instead, I started a new novel.
No. I haven’t quit the other one, rather I just need some more time to stare at that original brick wall and figure it out. But just staring at it wasn’t helping anything either.
Each day I get another day further from my last effort on that story, but it is not forgotten.
And one day I’ll wake up, ponder if today, that day, will be the day… and I will be right.
