(No comments? None? Somebody please say something already!)
I feel like an archaeologist who’s been intently pecking away at the stone for who knows how long, he finally breaks through into the Lost Tomb… and there’s nothing there. Just an empty room.
I worked so hard to wrap up Ozias, Prince in Peril, which I did just a few days ago. The labor was intense.
And suddenly it’s done and suddenly I don’t have a book to write. It’s a very oogy feeling, almost impossible to describe. And I can’t just start the next one because, folks, it doesn’t work that way. It’d burn my brain out if I tried.
As for writing about the nooze… Well, if that doesn’t give you the blahs after a while, I don’t know what will. Is there a place for a superhero with an infinite tolerance for boredom?
Obviously I need a rest. If I could only remember how to do that…