I miss my routines.
Not that my new novel wasn't polite, and attractive, and full of promise. But I have to try so much harder to keep the conversation going, and there are those long pauses where I pick at my cuticle and want to crawl under a table to avoid the silence.
My old novel? Heck, half the time I didn't even shave my legs before a date. We spent so many hours together, I knew that novel backward and forward.
So why move on? We'd learned all we could from each other, and I got restless. There are only so many times you can tell the same stories and watch the same movies and hang out at the same places.
One day, I imagined life with the new novel, and I just had to know.
I'd forgotten how tough it was to stare at a blank page, cursor blinking. But I have to believe it'll be worth it, in the end.
I have a second date coming up this week. Any advice for my new novel relationship? It's been so long since I began one, I forget how to start!
(I'll trade you for revision advice.)