I think I’ve finally managed to figure out a working plan for some hardcore writing. It takes me about twenty minutes of doggedly tapping away to actually invoke any sense of lasting motivation. One hour’s work permits me no more than 10 minutes’ idle distraction on MSN and the like. Every one and a half hours I’m permitted a low fat cigarette in the freezing cold, which gives the characters the chance to chatter idly to themselves and each other in my head while I puff. Another five minutes afterwards to wash my hands and brush my teeth (nervous habit and hardwired reaction to smoking when I’m not out in a pub) and then it’s nose back to laptop to chase the heels of motivation before it dissipates again. It’s going well - chapters now well and truly fleshed out, and Michael’s away for a day or so which gives me the perfect opportunity to work without the influence of Will & Grace drifting into my brain from his room upstairs.

I don’t want to tempt fate or complacency with the thought that I might actually finish something so stupendously daunting as a 50,000 word novel (minimum). The odd thing is, however, I’ve completely lapsed into my old habit of forgetting to eat. Somehow it just seems to take up too much time. Cooking a proper meal takes an hour at the very least. Empires can rise and fall in that time in the little universe I’m steadily painting for myself.