I shook my head. _You're out of your mind, Fieldston. You don't know a
thing about the girl except that she's either frigid or a les. Pretty,
sure. Ravishing. But cut out this jazz about loving her._
I scowled at the typewriter for half an hour more. My net progress for
the morning was nil. I had used up sixteen sheets of paper on eight
false starts totalling maybe one hundred words. I knew when I was
licked. I got up and put the typewriter away. Meehan was lying on the
grass in front, scribbling notes for his article, and he said, "You
giving up?"
"For the time being. I can't get started."
"Take the day off, then. Start tomorrow. Let your subconscious get the
book started for you overnight."
"Yeah," I said. I walked past him and headed toward the volleyball
court. A small group of colonists were choosing up a game. They were
waving to me.