My work on the novel has ground to a halt - I'm telling myself this is a deliberate and temporary ploy, but there's a niggling doubt that it might be more than that. The reasons are simple: firstly that I've been away travelling for a fortnight, during which time I (intentionally) didn't take the first draft with me to proof read; and secondly, that I've now reached the end of the first half anyway - and have realised how much rewriting is required.

Worse still, the rewriting is needed because what I've already written is so poor in places. There are long sections which I thoroughly dislike and which need to be cut and started afresh. This is a depressing thought, and a drawn-out process, which makes me question how committed I am to seeing it through. Do I want to spend another year writing this book? Or even longer? For what purpose?

One of the original motivations I had was to simply to see if I can indeed finish a complete novel. I'm under no illusions as to its likelihood making any money from it - but I still wanted to achieve the goal. Right now, however, I am enjoying the break from it - and distracting myself by writing something totally different instead - an entry to the Mogford Prize short story competition.

Next month, I will return to the novel. But I can't be sure if my feelings will have become much more positive.