Sometimes a story just flows, pours out of my fingers and onto the paper. I struggle to keep up with the pictures in my head and if forced to take a break I drive everyone nuts till I'm back on my laptop and in my own little world. Other times a scene will flow so slowly I'll do anything rather than write. I'll play spider solitaire, flit around the boards, tidy my files, anything.
But when the magic happens there's no other feeling quite like it, I'll read back what I've written and be amazed that it came from my head and my hands.
Charlie Darling is turning into one of those magic books at the moment, I just sent Jessica chapter four.
(Next week I'll probably be back playing spider)