As the newest of novelists, I'm feeling like Don Music, the frustrated piano player Muppet on Sesame Street. ("I'll never get it! Never, never!")
While I'm not quite that despondent, I have been feeling locked in, too narrowly focused. So, what the heck, today I wrote a poem and bought some summer reading:
Mr. Monk Goes to Hawaii by Lee Goldberg
A Kiss Gone Bad by Jeff Abbott
The Heartbreak Lounge by Wallace Stroby
Loaded by Shari Shattuck
In the big picture, I'll be reading novels with more of a writer's eye than ever before. And to Mr. Negativity, the inner voice saying so what if I don't write a novel, I'll express myself in other forms, I have a Schwarzeneggerian "I'll be back," and a Stallonian "I'm coming to get you."