The days are getting longer. As I write, the light glimmers around the edge of the office curtains, encroaching on my intimate, me-and-the-pc-monitor, private time. I like the darkness. It's a warm blanket, but more importantly, a blank sheet; a void to fill with my ideas. I can truly withdraw into my writing.
But soon, the garden, and my laptop, will be calling me. Perhaps I'll sit at the garden table with it, and write there, in the open. There can be no letting up. Neon Sands is out and doing quite well. Nice reviews. And Plains of Ion is on preorder. And it needs finishing. Luckily, the story is a great one, with characters I'm enjoying bring to life. The plains are wide and expansive. Maybe I should sit outside to write them, rather than here in my box.
When not writing, I have been attending an Arcade Fire gig (exceptional), and reading Mortal Engines by Philip Reeve (so far, so intriguing, even if I do seem to have unknowingly taken one of his plot twists to use in Neon Sands. Great minds and all that, hopefully).