Sobriquet 51.7: On The Road Again
The Plague struggling to write the perfect opening sentence did come to mind. Several times, in fact) but I started writing and, eventually, a few pages dripped out. As usual, I hate pretty much every word I've written and I have been analyzing my tone ever since I stopped writing but, fuck it all, the damn thing is underway.
Aside from writing more than I thought I would be able to squeeze out of myself, I actually read some more of Elizabeth Costello, too. Overall, not a bad day.
For tomorrow: Read or write or prep for writing.