…It’s not very much at all. Perhaps it’s a seasonal thing, but there appears to be a mass of stuff which must be done before Christmas, so that precious time for writing gets squeezed.
I don’t like talking about what I’m working on at the moment - it’s not that I’m superstitious, but in some way it dissipates the energy of the story in my head, it pricks the bubble of imagination. So although I daren’t discuss the content of what I’m writing, I might be brave enough to talk about how I’m writing it - which is extremely slowly, just now. It comes in fits and glorious starts and sometimes not at all. It’s like a love affair - the flow of the narrative turns on and off like a tap, like love can sometimes seem to, and the characters are occasionally capricious and spurn my advances, but we are stuck with each other for the moment, biding our time, pondering our commitment issues, yet unable to leave each other alone.
I’m looking forward to next year, to those crammed, intensive winter days when the daylight lasts just about as long as the urge to write.
