Last Sunday night I had a moment of queasy disdain, and almost sent all three chapters of my current novel into oblivion. In my black mood, I hated the book's central idea, hated the characters, hated the setting, and thought that euthanasing the project would be a kindness.

Then I had an attack of sanity, wrote a few more pages, and decided that since I'd started the novel --- I was well past my weasel date, my nominated cut-off point of 10,000 words, I might as well complete it. Only 100,000 words to go. :-)

What inspired me to keep going? A sticky note I keep on my computer monitor: "DDT