No, I didn't really write yesterday. I fled to the sea, instead. I made notes, but no actual writing.
At some point in the next several days, probably early next week, I'm going to – finally – break down and talk about the difficulties I've been having with work for the last year (and really quite a bit longer). That is to say, I'm going to talk about writer's block, something I don't even like to say aloud. Which shows you how superstitious I can be. Things can't get much worse, and I'm still afraid to say it aloud or type it publicly. Between April and today I've only been able to finish one short story, "Whisper Road," and that sort of dry spell is unprecedented in my twenty-one year publishing career. It's terrifying. I go to sleep afraid, and I wake up afraid. So, yeah. I'll talk about it. Soon.
But today, I'm going to try and write.
As I said, we went to the sea yesterday. We had dinner at Iggy's, but they really have ruined it, what with the new building and all. Iggy's was never so much about the admittedly mediocre food as it was about the atmosphere and shabby charm. Now, Iggy's has all the charm of a mall food court, and the food is still mediocre. The old Iggy's building sits deserted, with a rental sign out front. At least it hasn't been torn down. The tourists were an absolute swarm. We ate, then headed down to Point Judith for a bit. But the sun was setting, and we both got chilled, so we didn't stay too long.