Writer's block has ambushed me when I want to write most; a long weekend close to my self-imposed deadline. It sits on my chest and swipes at my eyes every time I try to throw it off of me. Bastard.

I'll try to work the juices to the surface. Soon I'll have the sledgehammer coming down again or I may shoot myself. Am writing letters to try to get the feel of the language back, but that does little for my fiction. I must finish this awful fuck-evil project.

A break may be called for (if I've gotten anything done worth taking a break from). My spirits are high, though. Don't be fooled. Oh no.

Onwards with the weekend, then.

OSJ