With the great push towards getting press and signings for “Fear and Yoga,” I’ve neglected my third book, “Cars from a Marriage,” currently underway. It’s very hard to get back to a project as big as a novel when you’ve neglected it for more than a month.

So yesterday I took out my latest manuscript, stretched out on the sofa, and read.

It was enough to break my heart. Not because my prose was so magnificent, but because there’s so much work to do. Away from the story and the characters for more than a month, I could see it in all its flawed glory. Rushed narrative. Insufficient stakes. It’s a hard task: writing about the slow dissolution of married love isn’t like writing about a kidnapping.

Sulking was the theme of the day, reinforced by the overcast and chilly weather. I knew there wouldn’t be much of a turnout for my synagogue reading yesterday, because of the Darfur rally, and sure enough, there wasn’t. And I also know that in addition to getting back to real novel-writing, I have to also get back to the gym on a regular basis.

So back to the new novel. F&Y will have to live or die on its own merits. I’ve got more work to do.

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