It doesn’t happen often to me, but at the moment it is: my fourth novel is flowing like a great big river. Not one of those crappy rivers that moves fast but is full of shopping trolleys and dead Alsatians but a big clean river, straight from a nice-looking mountain where no animals stop for a poo.
I am writing a good three thousand words per day which is quite a lot, given that my absolute limit for writing is three hours per day. And when I review the words, they’re GOOD.
As usual the early stage – up to about 25k words – has been like giving birth (to a big, difficult baby) so I feel like I deserve this break.
Hurrah! I am an actual writer! Who is writing! Not an uncertain woman floundering around in a big brown turdy river! BO!