The novel is coming along. If by 'coming along' I mean to say that writing it is like pulling teeth. I hadn't realized that it would have been this difficult to tell a story you've rehearsed inside your own head for nearly a decade, but apparently it is.
I was recently complaining about this to a journalist friend of mine (he writes for one of the New York dailies, but not one of the Big Three) who said something along the lines of "Now you know what we journalists have to contend with...".
Two things:
