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