That thing Shakespeare wrote about children in King Lear...

The thing with writing - the thing that gets me is how much your work hates you. It absolutely hates your guts. It had no thought or concern about you what so ever. You spend, days, months, sometimes, more times than not, fucking years creating, moulding, shaping this thing into something that you are happy with, something you can sell, read, do whatever ever it is that you will do with it (and i am quite certain this applies to anything of creative/artistic merit)... basically you spend an inordinate amount of time through your love and affection, blood and sweat at it... then you are tired, clearly and obviously tired. You need a rest others it will get stagnent, loose its original purpose and become something other than you wanted it to be. The you go back to it, you are looking forward to going back to this world you have created, going back and finishing it, tidying it up. And what does it do to you, it fucking spits in your face, calls you a wanker, kicks dirt in your eyes, turns into a thankless fucking child.

In short, went back to carry on with episode two after having a break from it and it was the biggest pile of shit i have ever witnessed.

Started doing new draft today.

Fucking hot.

Difficult to write in heat.

Feel like melting, or dying, feel a bit sick actually.

Gonna turn of computer for a bit.

CURRENT MOOD: Sick of being sick and hot
CURRENTLY LISTENING TO: Joan of Arc
CURRENTLY WATCHING: The Shield (yeah baby), Veronica Mars, Angel, Lost
CURRENTLY READING: Jinx, Supergirl, Ex Machina