I am writing in spare moments, little five minutes and thirty minutes strung together on a string. I cannot get any idea of how these moments will add into something significant. I don't know if I will get anywhere, but the brightness of summer is starting to blot out my feverish mind, and I don't care.
I am almost finished with The Siren, and I am revising the beginning of Winter Light. Well, I am also revising the beginning of The Siren.
I am even thinking of looking for publishers again.
I have realized that these five minutes and thirty minutes put together make a better story than the longer writing sessions of one or two hours, when I become dull after a while.