I considered pulling an all nighter last night, caught up in the world of Thea, Richard and Stark. Luckily, common sense prevailed around 3am. Believe me, as much as I'd like to work through and crawl beneath the duvet at daybreak, small children just don't allow for such behaviour. I woke with a sore head and it hasn't much improved.
Anyway, things are plodding along. The synopsis I was supposed to be hacking into shape has taken a back seat and instead I've pushed on with the main text. The only problem I'm having is that I can't tell if it's brilliant or shit. Maybe it's neither. Maybe that's worse. Urgh!
Okay, I'm back after several hours...
... and Desperate Measures is become more desperate. Why, you ask? Because I'm a fool that's why. Instead of writing a nice relationship heavy contemp with quirky characters and a nice mix of sex and angst, I'm writing a bloody historical that's determined to have a proper plot in addition to the relationship, quirky characters, sex angst. Ruddy history. Ruddy plot! Why do I do it? Answers on a postcard - hang on, showing my age there - better make it in an email, or hey, just as a comment. Someone explain this madness to me. Pleeease!
Recently watched: I don't have time for TV.
Currently listening to: The rain.
Currently reading: The Historian by Elizabeth Kostova.