Time to regrind

Now that was a stinking bucket of sun-heated prawns if ever I’ve smelt one; or read one, as the case may be.

Poorly written garbage! Stilted, boring, lack-lustre language posing as ‘literature’. Simply cringe-worthy!

I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. It seems less common than ever to pick up something and call it a ‘good read’ these days (….okay, sounding a lot like my Grandma here…..).

The problem with this morning’s excruciating prose is that it happens to be the last chapter of my own novel. *Groan*. No wonder I’d left that particular file closed (locked-bolted-buried) for the last few months. When did I become so bad at…well….the very thing I’m supposed to be my best at?

Sheesh; this doesn’t bode well! And now I’ve left my run too late to pursue my secretly desired career as a Teen Idol….

So what now? Have I lost my witty edge? Has my irreverence for the traditional use of syntax finally caught up with me? Or – heaven forbid – have I discovered that I actually don’t have anything to say after all?

The small voice in the back of my head is saying ‘Stay the course, Denner. You’re tougher than that’.

Dang voices in my head; I hate it when they’re right…..