We aren't writing. We're blue. We have issues. We have tension.
We miss writing. We feel bad not to be producing pages of deathless prose. When people post on Facebook about their successes in word counts we commiserate with chocolate bars and dark muttering that quantity doesn't always equal quality.
Quality ain't shit when you aren't producing anything at all.
We had some momentum going. For awhile we were both writing, exchanging pages, having long breathless conversations about plot and character developement and our tensions over tenses.
That was ages ago.
We're limping in the marathon of writing life. We're pathetic.
Oh yeah. And by the way: my book comes out on Monday. 666 Angel Lane. Preorder on Amazon.