I had had a good writing day. And the year before, I had had an even better day. It was the day I finished the first draft of Moving a Mountain. Which, of course, still hasn't sold.
And I haven't finished another novel in between because I spent quite a while on The One About the War which will never sell in a million years.
I'm still trying to work out why I can't produce any words at the moment. My timetable is starting to settle down and it's not that I don't have time because I've been spending more time than I should on the computer.
I think part of my mind is sulking and saying, "Why bother?" It looks increasingly likely that I'll never sell anything because the goalposts are moving faster than I can improve. Right now it seems like the whole world and their dog are writing a novel.
So I just have to want to write for the sake of writing...
Perhaps tomorrow will be better, except that tomorrow is the stupidly long day when I teach morning, afternoon and evening.
Perhaps Thursday will be better. :)