A Writer's Notebook, One-Thousand-Eight-Hundred-And-Seventy-Two

Last night I talked about feeling I was making progress with my flash fiction, and today I am thinking that I cursed myself by saying that.  In truth, I am aware that this is how it goes so often.  I had several days when the work seemed to just flow out with ease and I started to get a bit excited about what that meant.  The truth is, though, that progress is rarely linear.  Tonight, I found it difficult to even come up with an idea for a story, and what I wrote feels a bit weak to me, if I am honest.  I have to accept that, though.  I can't expect to always be writing my best work; besides, often it is when I am having difficulty that I learn and develop the most as a writer.

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