Sometimes I feel as though writing is a little like screaming into a vacuum. Though I holler and scream to be heard all that happens is a swift removal of oxygen and I’m left at the end of the day slinking away from my chair, exhausted and gasping for breath. It’s a marathon, I have to remember, not a sprint.
So I’m sitting in the hotel room at the Mandarin Oriental in Kuala Lumpur and I’m pondering what to write next. It’s not so much writer’s block, but rather its my usual state of being. I write slowly, probably averaging around a thousand words a day, and I actively rewrite my work as I go (a lot more than I intend to).