I have spent the last two days wailing, moaning, gnashing my teeth and assaulting the bedclothes, throwing staplers around the room, taking long walks in the dark and contemplating a return to antidepressants, but I think the worst is over and I am returning to work. O there is a lot of work left. Damned Zeno's novel: every time you think you've written it, it turns out you've only written half. John Gardner sez:
If, on the other hand, you miserably fail, you have only three choices: start over, or start something else, or quit.
Finally, the true novelist is the one who doesn't quit. Novel-writing is not so much a profession as a yoga, or "way," an alternative to ordinary life-in-the-world.
I don't care if it sounds ponderous; I need it.