Still telling myself to write more, still not listening. How does one self-motivate? On the surface something appeals to the senses but peek just below and how repugnant it suddenly is, like an underground phosphorus pool. All glittering and twinkling to the eye but the other senses cringe and twist and reject utterly the experience on account of the smell. That’s it: I’ve got to acclimate myself to the smell of writing.