Oh, the pain

Banged into that wall at speed!

What wall? The one where you happily motoring along, writing up a storm and suddenly, your fingers go dyslexic and the keyboard feels like it's moving. That's when I know it's time to stop for the day.

I know it's an illusion, but the mind... she play funny tricks.

And then there's the internal debate: I'm a competitive person, but it's not necessarily good for me.

I've written two books this month, shouldn't that be enough? I mean really, it's about encouraging people to write and, for some, 50,000 words is a real challenge. Everyone who reaches that mark deserves their happy dance at the end.

But for me? I see those word counts rise and I can't help but match them. I've got to write more - and keep it readable. If I don't, that muse torments me; gives me more scenes, more dialogue (descriptions of landscape are absent), more adventure.

And so, I'm off to write the third book, this one in modern day Australia.

I think breaking out the metal studded whip and self-flagellating is probably easier than this.