Sometimes, the writing is like seeing the story on the other side of frosted glass wall. It's there, you know it is, and you can see the general shape of it, but no matter how much you try to reach it, you just can't. The only way to get to it seems to be banging your head repeatedly against the wall in the hope that you can break through, or otherwise get a spectacular enough concussion that it doesn't matter any more.
But then, sometimes you break through. You have a moment of perfect clarity which manifests itself into a sledgehammer. The glass wall receives a hole the size of Godzilla. The story and characters are there, clear and wonderful and in more detail than you thought you'd get to see them.
Guess which days I'd been having lately? But then guess which day I had on Thursday. I'm feeling good.
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