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Today I took some old apples and turned them into apple sauce concentrate, adding lemon and some uncooked chunks for crunch. It was perfect and took a lot of effort, boiling an old coffee jar and whatnot. I stuck the jar in the fridge when in cooled and couldn't help taking a dip two hours later.
It tasted like ash. The odour of coffee was somehow still overwhelming and drowned out the apples entirely. I had to throw it out.
Then I thought about my novel. Am I putting that much effort in, taking the purest ingredients of time, commitment and imagination and turning them into mulch?
Just can't write today.