2,200 words into a short novel that will probably run to 27,000 words. It’s a story I’ve had in mind for a while — a tale of the big top, of the golden age of the great American circus trains, in the 1930s.
After a couple of days of work on it, I feel a certain amount of momentum gathering in the narrative, and I know where it’s going — both good signs.
So I created a cover for it, to make it seem more real, forced myself to stop writing and fixed a nightcap to keep me away from the keyboard — I can’t write when I’m drinking.
Writing is a tiresome business most of the time — but it has its moments, like this one, when I feel excited about getting back to it tomorrow.
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