I’ve written a big chunk of words this month. I like that.

I’ve had feedback on several stories over the past month. That’s good. I’ve not enjoyed it.

Writing is solitary, it is a matter of ego. Mine is suffering at the moment.

I can’t get the mechanics correct. It’s a problem of converting an idea into a story that drags people along.

Ho Hum

Time to level up.

Oh, and my glandular fever is playing merry hell, so I feel physically crap, and mentally everything is foggy.