Nothing like getting stuck on the third chapter with 43 more to go. There's no time for my usual strategy either. Can't walk away from a first draft that's peppered with holes while a six-month deadline looms over my head.
Okay, here's the deal. A third body just washed to shore, I'm in the morgue, and the medical examiner swears he's found some evidence. I can't see it--I've tried but it's not there. Not yet anyway.
I'm too restless--distracted easily by the dumbest things. I guess I'm avoiding the obvious--writing something believable. I hate it. But ironically, it's the hard ones that eventually shine the brightest. Great ... I'll keep at it, but for now, it's driving me crazy.
Tomorrow. I'll try it again tomorrow.