The stupid part is it's not like I wouldn't have a chance at getting a novel published... once I get around to actually writing a novel I like. (Actually, is it that, or is it the fact that I've already written seven of the damned things and still haven't unearthed one I can stand?) Must do so immediately. Much more productive than wallowing in writer's envy, after all. And now that "Tongue-Tied" is rewritten for the last time (with only minor edits left before shipping it off to Realms of Fantasy), there are no excuses for procrastination.
Contract to self: I will have a novel written by the end of the summer, and ready for agent-shopping by the end of the year. Sign on the dotted line.
P.S. Go read The Eyre Affair. It's like the Hitchhiker's Guide of literary meta-fiction. And it explains who wrote Shakespeare. Much fun is had by all.