Where does it go from here? Is it down to the lake I fear. Aye-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya, Aye-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya-ya. I'm becoming somewhat obsessed with my inability to finish a novel and I don't know what to do. I have no passion, incentive or desire to write a traditional, plot-driven novel that will appeal to publishers or readers alike, and yet I can't write from the gut without sounding like a (very) poor man's Bukowski. My only option is something wholly character-driven, but I can't do that either because my characters have nothing to say. I feel utterly hopeless and inadequate at writing anything of any worth and it just makes me want to call it a day. In fact over the last few days I've been experiencing a sort of relief that I don't have to beat myself up over my writing any more. If I'm not trying, I can't be failing, is the twisted logic my mind has come up with. I've heard it said a number of times that all a struggling writer needs is to find a subject they're passionate about, and the words will flow easily because they're writing about something they know and care about, but if I've not found mine after all these years, I'm not going to, am I? I feel it's destined that the rest of my life will be spent writing, giving up, writing, giving up, writing, giving up... and never finishing anything.