We’re in the lurgy/infection/fevers season. I’ve been nursing a bout of badness and sharing tips for writing when ill. I am the snotty, fatigued gift that keeps on giving. Note: I’m not a doctor. Don’t sue me.
Writing the second novel in a series is both exciting and scary. You learn a lot about yourself. Mainly what a doubting, weird, procrastinator you are. Brace yourselves for ‘second novel problems’.
When a kitten appears and you were the only cat, apparently you learn to love them, not eat them. Feegle the cat gives advice on solidarity rather than competition. No kittens were harmed in the making of this post. Later is another matter.
I am rubbish sometimes at recognising my progress. I am more likely to list all my failures. Who better to teach you all about how to acknowledge your own progress? Yes, I know. Let’s call it therapy.