Okay, I'm not sure exactly who did the murder, but if it turns out to be who I think, then I have my murder weapon. I also have a ton more information on the fall guy (or fall dog, to be specific), thanks to a long and very fun conversation with Eddie Ramos, the Duxbury Animal Control Officer (thanks, Eddie!). And I'm facing the hard truth.
It's hard to write. Damned hard.
Especially after a summer of revision and smaller projects, of cleaning up and paring down. It. Is. Difficult. To. Sit. Down. And. Write.
But, you know, after a while research can just be a way of avoiding the necessary. So... I'm doing it. (My current policy is to tell myself that if I can just bash out a rough draft before the new year, I can always trash it and start a new book in January. Reduces the fear element.)
Thought for the day, courtesy of W.B. Yeats:
'A line will take us hours maybe;
Yet if it does not seem a moment's thought,
Our stitching and unstitching has been naught.
Better go down upon your marrow-bones
And scrub a kitchen pavement, or break stones
Like an old pauper, in all kinds of weather;
For to articulate sweet sounds together
Is to work harder than all these, and yet
Be thought an idler by the noisy set
Of bankers, schoolmasters, and clergymen
The martyrs call the world.'