There are times ...

when I can barely put two words together, much less an entire thought -- or should that be written in reverse? I've had my laptop open for hours, but how much have I actually written? And now I'm looking at the story ... for the umpteenth time, mind you, and I suddenly don't care, don't care a thing about it. I've got to finish this thing. And finish it so that I'm happy with it, but when and how ...?

The thing is I should be writing more short stories, since my capacity for extended concentration is so minimal, I shouldn't be trying anything as major an exercise as writing a full-blown novel, even one that I started nearly four years ago. Or should I say especially one that I started so long ago? It's the unfinished stories that tax you. Your initial enthusiasm is gone, that first flush of inspiration, and now you're dragging yourself through the story, wondering how what you've put down on paper could fall so far short of what you envisioned.