I've been having one of those got-to-get-out-of-the-house-i-have-no-life kind ofdays. Possibly I've been working a little too hard on the second book, but at the same time I want it out of the way. What also possibly doesn't help is that this far into a book, I am completely unable to judge it in any way - is it good? Is it bad? Somewhere in between? Exciting? Dull? God, don't ask me, I just wrote the thing. If I'd read it, not knowing what was going to happen at the end, I'd have a better idea. But I wrote it, every word, and that's just not the same thing. It utterly screws with your ability to make an objective judgment.

What I wish sometimes is that I could get someone to hypnotise me. Make me think I was reading someone else's book. That way, I'd know what to think of it. Which scenario, should it be in any way be possible or feasible, throws up the distressing notion of reading your own book, not knowing it's your book, and not liking it. Aargh. So very Twilight Zone, so maybe we just won't go there.

Anyway, I've done maybe half the second-draft revisions on Against Gravity, covering at least ten pages a day. I might just stand a chance of getting it done before the Angel Stations revisions turn up on my doorstep from Pan MacMillan. In the meantime, I'm feeling just a touch poor, even though I've got money in the bank. I'm hoping my first cheque for 'Stations comes in soon so I can spend a little of the money I already have. For the past year, year and a half, I've been stuck indoors, hardly going out, hardly doing anything, haven't taken a single holiday outside of one day for the Eastercon and the occasional Bank Holiday when the place is shut anyway. I am now beginning to feel the effect, and am therefore feeling slightly nuts.

Why is it everyone else seems to be going out all the time? Damn. Time to make some phonecalls.

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