Interupted interuptions

The second half of last week became such a hectic round of events, meetings, deadlines and late nights that I was amazed to find that I did actually manage to squeeze some writing inbetween. I now have the first two acts of a short audio drama called ‘Cats and Dogs’, although all the scenes were penned out of order and only barely relate, so read like a game of consequences played by eight drunken dramaturges. I’ll try smoothing it out over the weekends and adding act three.

I have two short stories open at the moment that both grabbed my attention for a few hours last week but have since ground to a halt again. If I ever finish either I shall throw a party and get stroke inducingly drunk to celebrate.

Something very positive with the festering novel project happened last week, so hopefuly once script is complete I’ll be able to return to it with renewed enthusiasm.

Graham Joyce, Peter F Hamilton and Mark Chadbourn spent a portion of yesterday evening explaining the horrors of actually writing an entire novel to an audience of  the general public at my urging. Is it really that much hard work, or is this just a ploy of the professional novelist to discourage the uninitiated? Something tells me its the former.

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