In my irrational drive to sabotage the writing of my novel, I've started making notes on a new novel. It's almost, but not quite a sequel (set in the same world, but with few of the same characters). I get a real rush out of that pure invention of new scenes and characters. It's so much more fun than the hard work of fleshing out those scenes and making them work. I know I can do it, because I've done it before, but I keep not doing it. I remember at one point in my twenties thinking that I could generate tons of story ideas while I was young and then labor over actually writing them later when I was older, but that idea seems crazy now. In a lot of ways, I was a better writer in my mid-20s than I am in my late-30s.

On the barely bright side, I realized this morning that I've been slipping into a depression for the past few weeks. That could potentially be useful because during my periods of anhedonia, my usual distractions become worthless and I sometimes find it a bit easier to focus my mind on things that need to be done.