When I think about what reading means, I think of the worlds that books transport me to, of the message ingrained in the pages, of the characters that feel like close friends. With books, you never can be certain just where the author will take you.

So when I think about writing fiction, it should excite me in much the same ways, should it not?

The answer, in a word, is yes, it does. To me, there's nothing better than knowing I've done something great, spun a tale and endured long enough to see it to the finish line.

But sometimes, my friends, it sure doesn't feel that way. Sometimes writing fiction feels a whole lot like trudging through a flooded swamp, the mud sucking off my boots with every step so that I have to stop and get my foot back in. What's worse, sometimes that swamp has little fish with sharp teeth nibbling at my heels, and sometimes the moonlight is hidden behind clouds so that I'm blind to my path.

That's a long way off from how books are meant to feel, I think.

But maybe this is all leading to something better. Maybe these hard times are necessary for the boot in the ass that'll propel me into the know. Who's to say? I think hope is one of mankind's most potent forces, and I try to hold onto a little bit every time I take a spill.

For now, I've taken a step back from what I'm working on. On my first "day off," I've read most of a book and written half of what I usually do. And to think I tried so hard to stay away...

Does that say something about this venture for me? Anything at all? Does it foreshadow success?

Maybe it does. For now, I'm okay to believe it.