Not again?

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Yup, I’ve only gone and started another novel…tsk!
I swore I wouldn’t put myself through the trauma again but it’s a drug, the only one I use, well; if you don’t count coffee and I don’t. Coffee is what old people use to wake, socialise, take a break and retain interest. Without it we are empty vessels.
I think I may have started number one of a series of sci-fi/fantasy novels based on the concept of extreme torture to an authors imagination.
As usual everything feels way beyond me.
As usual I have very little planning underway.
As usual I will probably get 20,000 words in and wonder what the hell I’m doing with my life and “how the Fffff am I ever going to finish the first one?”
At least I have the belief/knowledge that I can turn a story on my instinctive ability to dredge stuff from the well at the bottom of my mind. Somewhere down there in the darkness is a river, stream, brook? that drizzles ideas in from underground and if I think for long enough or drift into ‘that’ zone the sparkles rise to the top. It’s an odd thing, to have nothing but a blank page in front of you that somehow fills with all manner of stories, from where?
I’m going to drop the bucket in and hope because I am well out of my depth with this one but fantasy is my thing.
I wrote my sci-fi novel and that turned out way better than I could ever have imagined so I’m gonna do this. I’ve got a whole world to invent now, characters to write, stories to make up, histories to invent…
It’s going to be amazing, challenging, scary and horrible but I can do this, you wait and see.

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