That’s all the fight you have left in you. That slow and dreadful winding down of the clock, that deep and deadly disdain for something else that starts with a “d.” You can push yourself past this point in your life but you don’t know what comes next.
There’s basically nothing bouncing around in my neurons. But the important thing is to keep writing. They say that the muse has to know where to find you. You have to wait patiently for her. The keyboard is your shrine; you have to sit there for long hours and perform the ritual of banging away at the keys. Eventually she will come.
“How long will you wait?”
I answer: What else is there worth waiting for?