The urge to write is strong in me today. I wrote last night, into the wee small hours, keeping Jen awake with my constant tap-tap-tap (sorry, sweetheart). It was gold, too, the good stuff. Not pouring out of me like it used to, but I like to think I've replaced quantity with quality.

I've done my usual trick of making myself believe that this might be the one, the book that gets finished and submitted. I'm not bored of it yet, despite a temporary diversion into the world of sci-fi (a weird place, full of words I wouldn't dare use in 'real' fantasy, like synchrotron), and that's a good sign. To come back to a book so often gives me hope that I might see this one through. I'm a bit of a plot magpie, and that has to stop if I'm ever to get anywhere.

So, the dream is still alive, dreamt in the hours between when I'm meant to be asleep and when I actually get there.

I'll keep writing this post, every so often. It's littered throughout the history of the blog in so many forms. One day I won't have to write it any more. One day.