So, I’ve got a lot of acquaintances who are suddenly doing really, really well at this writing thing, God bless ’em.

And here’s me, wondering why in the world I sat in the back of some stranger’s car yesterday afternoon, staring at the words I’d written in my novel, unable to do much of anything but…look at words I’d already written.  I knew what was supposed to happen– Randall, one of my Protags, was supposed to find out the deep, dark secret his ghost-wife has been hiding from him.  But how, how, HOW?

When I finish this first draft, I think I’m going to need to go back and insert some more exposition into the text.  The ghost-wife is an interesting enough character; I could clean up with dramatic irony if I wrote her in as a third protagonist…

In any case, yep– I’m jealous.  I completely sucks to be jealous of wonderful people, because along with the jealousy comes guilt.  And they are wonderful people.  Wonderfully helpful, marvelously supportive colleagues.

I want to gnaw their brains.