Spend four hours reading your novel.
Feel abjectly depressed about its suckitude.
Wrestle with 1) the feeling that you should give it up 2) the feeling that you have nothing else going for you.
Mope around the house. Frown at your twins.
Rethink your life and career. Consider being a house husband and nothing else. Consider being a carnie, or running away with a circus.
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Confess to your wife, when she arrives home, the wife who has patiently supported you through the years, that you are throwing away the last five years of work.
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Marvel at her ability not to freak out at this news. Go workout. Do a crazy intense treadmill exercise for 50 minutes, include lunges, running backwards uphill, and running at 10 mph. Get close to collapsing. Drench even your socks in sweat. Blow out all the synapses of the last five years. Wipe the slate clean.
Come back home. The twins are asleep. The wife goes to bed. Start your new novel. Write 4,000 words in the next 4 hours. CPR the dream.