I’m feeling oddly melancholic at the moment. Certain subjects are stressing me out more than they should, and while work is progressing well on the book, and I’m rewriting more and more, I can’t help feeling I’ve created something that some anonymous reader is going to look at and go “Hmmph. Well, it was fun, but it could have been alot better…” The chapters are taking shape– I’m in the middle of what I call the Godforsaken Desert of Exposition, where the characters learn all the necessary stuff they need before the next phase of the story can begin, but I got to a certain point in the rewrite last night, and I felt like I just couldn’t push myself any further. I desperately want to improve at this process and understand it better, but the only way I’m going to do that is by writing another one. With a certain degree of preperation, I think I’m capable of burning through a massive level of wordcount in a very short amount of time (my only writing method at the moment is to start with throwing lots of words at the page and seeing what sticks), but then it’s changing that into something good. I guess I’m just finding it a little hard to have faith in myself. It’s a very long road, and while I’m coming to the end of it, I’m getting nervous that the destination might not be exactly where I wanted to end up.

Anyhow, I’ve got the Clarke Awards in London tonight– I’m going to go, talk to lots of people, drink plenty, and hopefully have a good time…