I have fallen well wide of the wagon. So far off, in fact, that pep talks and challenges notwithstanding, I fear this year’s hope is all but salvageable. A cricket clears thd moulding at the base of the wall in his attempt to scale the wall. I wonder where he’s heading. Halfway up the door now he edges his way toward the bedside table. I wrote that to avoid the cliche of heading toward the light. He would make a better main character than any that might have inhabited my non-existent novel. I don’t want to be surprized by chirping too close for comfort in the middle of the night. That’s it! A novel written entirely in cliché! I almost went for the laptop. Instead, I’ll take D’Evelyn’s advice and lie down till the impulse passes.