Reading Neil Gaiman’s journal in my aggregator is acting as a gentle but persistent goad: he provides these little glimpses into how he works and forces me (and probably others) to face up my own laziness or lack of focus.
Had an excellent writing day today until derailed by email, and hope to have an excellent writing night, or at least a good one. Right now, at least, the book is behaving. I’m still not sure why or how Fat Charlie is going to get out to the Caribbean, mind, but I’m fairly sure it’ll take care of itself when I get there, and it probably has something to do with Mrs Dunwiddy anyway.
Writing is work, just as gardening or cooking or programming: it’s sometimes no more clear how any of those tasks are going to work out, either, but they sort themselves out as they go. Perhaps it’s time to follow a NaNoWriMo program year-round . . .