I printed out The Work, as it is, to date yesterday, and it’s now sitting on my desk looking impressively like a novel. Already it is the half a reem of paper that my previous novels have been – and this is only half of it!

Leafing through it, it looks – somehow – like a novel, and I see scenes that I remember, and I like them and I remember how they fit into the story.

It may of course, end up as complete poo, but right now, it is encouraging me write…