After a long dry spell, some output: 700 words on (working title) "Petite Rat," about ballet, the borderline personality disorder, witches, the lost souls of children, love, political intrigue, stuff like that.
For months, I've been having what Nancy Kress calls the 'Tolstoy Syndrome': "If I can't write as well as Tolstoy, why am I writing at all?" fretfretfret. IOW, your inner critical writer overcomes your creative writer. I dunno what the solution is. One proposed solution is alcohol, but I'm reluctant to go down that route. My current solution is to write as well as Tolstoy. Um. Right. Onward.
恐喝 == kyoukatsu == (noun) blackmail
|Left radical is 'mouth/say'. Right radical is of obscure origin and meaning. Henshall suggests taking it as a 'person/man sitting' (ヒ), a 'cover', and 'sunshine' (日), and as a mnemonic: 'Man sits covered in sunshine, shouts open mouthed.'|