I've been working painstakingly on revisions to my supposedly completed novel. Everytime I read some of it I find new reasons to be dissatisfied -- but fortunately there are plenty of reasons to be quite happy with it too, and I've been able to let myself find solutions to the difficulties. I'm forcing myself to be patient -- not my best thing.

My husband has been having a hard time with his new medication -- partly self-induced. He got so annoyed with the side effects that he stopped taking both meds entirely for two days -- and started having horrible anxiety -- full blown panic -- we drove around for about two hours last night, while he made up his mind that he really did need to go to the emergency room. Even when he's feeling okay he's very stubborn -- the ER doctor told him he needed to stay on his meds, and he didn't want to hear it -- but after we'd filled a prescription for a tranquilizer and he'd taken it, he started to see reason -- and started his meds again. Today he feels much better.

I'm going to use my experience in living with this wonderful bi-polar man in the character of Willem in the Book With No Name. I've got a few other strangely-tuned friends whose personalities I'll draw on too.

But now I really must drag myself away from writing, and get some sleep. Tomorrow I really have to do some yard work. (My yard is the bane of my existence.) Maybe one day soon one of the new stories will tug irresistably at my mind. (They're still there, but I'm keeping them quiet at the moment.)