the fiction fairy is off my shoulder these days. I am feeling spent and unmotivated by all current projects. It will come back to me. I just need to keep showing up. I don’t often experience a complete lull like this in the ficting impulse. But when I do it’s like a glimpse into a wasteland — nothing but Nothing as far as the I can see. What could explain it? Has the circus left town? Now what? My battered little cardboard ticket goes limp in my hand. I would turn for home, but: which way is that? I thought home was here.

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