So I got stuck driving home just over a week ago. A foot of snow fell in an hour. I'm not going to go into a big rant about how the council never do anything and it's a bloody disgrace and all that. All it really did was make me miss my tea, get a bit wound up and make me lose my routine.
The routine in question is the one that was producing nearly two thousand words a day. I've not written a sausage now in just over a week. I have done a bit of editing on Too Big To Fail, and it's about ready to be sent. But it's the writing and ideas that have gone.
I had always thought I'd have december off from the next book, but I imagined I'd write a couple of short stories at the very least. But nothing's coming out. Makes me wonder just how much of this is getting in the right routine.
Talking of short stories, those kind people at Powder Burn Flash have accepted the story I rewrote into First Person a few weeks back. Not sure when it's going to be up, but I'll let you know when I know.
I'm going to force myself to write a short story. Looking at an old word file, there's a couple of ideas in there, namely: A cordless drill, a vengeful wife and three people at a bus stop. Sounds a bit like a game of cluedo doesn't it.