Get back to work, motherfucker

Everything seems pointless, I haven’t been sleeping well, the light and colour drain from the world. Electricity builds in the tips of my fingers. I’ve been feeling like a junkie with a writing monkey on my back. Time to do a second draft of the novel, print it out and read it through with a glass of red wine. Enough time has passed for me to be able to see it with fresh eyes and be ruthless with myself. So the frequency of postings here may slow down.

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