A quarter...

Writing. Mainly. And thinking. I've somehow managed to get about a quarter of the way into the play, which is good. Altough not when you consider that I was about a third of the way into the play but then had a rethink. My current daytime occupation is certainly interfering with my ability to be imaginative and I'm unable to really write anything more than five pages in one sitting without my retinas feeling as if they're about to shrivel up into nothingness and my brain cave in. So it's a struggle. Yet there have been those moments when...well, when stuff just flies in from somewhere out there that exists but doesn't exist. And twists and turns have arrived from out of the same somewhere/nowhere. Without wishing to sound like some romantic, writerly arsehole, those are the brief, fleeting moments when writing is really worth it. Those moments and the times when I've been writing late at night fuelled by hot dogs and Wensleydale cheese.