Writing a novel

I see myself, a brilliant plodder, crossing out one word and replacing it with another, or not replacing it at all.

It's my good fortune that words are part of the same realm of infinitude as numbers, and that even with limited access I've been given more words than I need.

I once wanted to be a success, I so wanted to be a success. Now I want to fail, I crave failure, it's the only thing that's good for me as a writer and a person.

I'm afraid I'm wearing myself out down here, trying to be myself. Such an effort. No doing nothing, not for me, for others maybe but not for me. Keep going then, come down and go inside to keep going. Climb a little up the rock face, fall, climb again, fall, and so forth.

The writer I'd like to become is the writer the reader struggles with almost as much as the writer struggled to write what the reader is reading.