A kick up the bum

This evening I had a reread through my course notes from the Open University fiction writing course I did two years ago, in an attempt to boost my flagging motivation.

Sometimes I really wish I didn’t love writing so much.  I wish I didn’t have this compulsion to produce literature.  I love and hate it in equal measure.  It can be such a torturous process.  I sound like a real pretentious tortured artiste, but it’s true.

I have started to get ideas for my next novel, Majella Bracebridge, which is going to be set in Birmingham throughout my favourite decade, the 80s, beginning in the New Romantic era.  Potential characters and storylines keep flying at me, but I have to keep reminding myself I need to complete The Four Matthews before I can concentrate on a new story.  That in itself ought to be an incentive to crack on and finish TFM, but I just want to go to bed.  I need a kick up the arse to finish it.

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