After a horrendously stressful day at work today, it was a relief to come home to my other job, the one I don't get paid for but which I might one day, if all the planets align correctly and I don't walk under any ladders or something.
This is how I've come to think of my writing: like it's a job. I do it every day (thank you calendar with all your little crosses!) with the aim of it being something I might gain an income from at some point in the distance future. You know, in a world where I actually get round to looking for agents. Unfortunately on that front, the actual writing feels so much more appealing at the moment!
I'm now essentially in the middle of the story, that big old chunk sandwiched between the beginning and the end, and yet which is too big to really be only one section. I should probably be more wary about losing pace but to be honest I'm more concerned with getting everything in within a reasonable word count. Waffling has always been a bit of a thing.
Also, I'm trying to force myself not to get too caught up on every little detail. I could easily spend ages agonising over the phrasing of just a couple of sentences but would then find that I'd not actually produced all that much. It's useful to remind myself every so often that this is only the first draft and that all the agonising can be done later. Something to look forward to and all that.
And I finished a book today: Ranger's Apprentice: The Burning Bridge by John Flanagan. I'm fairly certain that it's aimed at teenage boys but they get a lot of good books and I'm not going to stop reading them just because I'm not one and never have been. They're more than welcome to read all the bad Chick Lit which I'm supposed to like. Fair trade?