To that end, I have plowed through the halfway point in this novel and am heading for the three quarter mark, with the ending written and nothing save a major life crisis will get in my way. The summer was good; I stood in the room where Hemingway wrote "The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber" and I heard how he wrote only 500 words per day but he wrote them every damned day of his life, no matter what.
A writer needs focus. A writer needs that "intent," selfish or not. I'm going to finish this novel and publish it, and meanwhile work on its successor (which will be set in Tennessee) and then I'm going to publish that as well. And then write more. And just keep writing and writing until I'm dead. Then I'll write from wherever that turns out to be (wink).