You know, I thought I'd be done with the first draft of my novel by now. For several months I had a daily habit of writing and was feeling like I was on the right track. But then Bodhi got sick, and we started looking at houses, and somewhere in there I stopped thinking about the novel altogether.
Today marks two weeks since officially moving into the new house, and in that time a daily routine has slowly started to take shape. Last night I even pulled out my yellow legal pad. I re-read a couple of old sentences. I tried to write a new one, just one new sentence, but the words wouldn't come to me. It's okay, though, because at least I tried. And trying is better than nothing at all.