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The Wheels Turn

August 4, 2004

Saturday and Sunday were terrible. Staring at blank white pages for hours, racking my brain over just how to open up Chapter XII, and convey the misery of marching through southern Italy in the middle of summer. The heat, the dust, the sweat, the sun. “Paullus was miserable.” No, wait, “Paullus swore under his breath as he blinked yet another bead of sweat out of his eyes…” No. Terrible. F.

Curiously enough, it was the first paragraph that was giving me fits. Not even what to write, but how to break into it.

Well, tonight I finally overcame that wall. I have two pages now. Pretty solid stuff, too. It came out creaking and groaning, but it came. Here’s hoping that the wheels will begin turning a bit easier tomorrow.

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