I’ve put in as many hours at writing as on other days, but only made another 5000 words, half of the total of those other days. I don’t know what is going wrong here, but it feels like I’m stuck to the floor. I know, though that the word count is no longer the important thing, it’s actually ever getting this finished.

It’s perhaps a shame I don’t have any real life writers around to talk with. I’m sure that many will recognise the feelings I am going through here, and will have tales of the same. Writing is tough - the toughest I’ve ever attempted. I can’t put it away when I’m finished with it either, it consumes me. I find myself still thinking of scenes as I walk to and from school, walk the dog, late at night when going to sleep, when waking up. It seems, at this mid point, endless.