The Sunlight Hurts My Eyes: Some Writing Updates

I’m staring down my novel like it’s a feral dog, black and ragged and spitting in the corner. Maybe one day writing a long manuscript won’t feel like fighting an adversary. Maybe one day I’ll understand that all of this pain, confusion, and little spilled out drops of astonishing revelation that come with writing a novel are part of some eternal recurrence. I will understand intrinsically Nietzsche’s idea of Amor Fati or “Love of One’s Fate.” I will understand what Bukowski means when he feels like he can’t go on and laughs in the face of recurring misery.