Quick novel update: I have found some serious traction now that I am back home and in a routine. I have done this mainly by increasing my daily writing time by an hour up to two hours a day AND by adding in a planning session in the early afternoon before I wilt.

By the end of this week I will be a mere four chapter away from halfway, and by the end of next week I will be halfway. I got some lovely feedback from Marc Pienaar which was very helpful and it is helping me take the process of unraveling this tale to the next level.

In short, very much energized. I have also applied for a Writer Residency in the USA for next year for 8 months and sent the novel synopsis as well as 3 chapters to an agent in London. Seeing as I am progressing so well, its time to get those kinds of balls rolling as well.

My lead character Andrew meantime has kind of reached his nadir… According to the principle of sufficient irritation, change will only occur once staying they way or where one is become uncomfortable enough. In other words where the barriers of our comfort zones (even if they have always actually been unpleasant) become too much to bear and we are spurred into acting to overcome our inertia.

Andrew is now banging himself against those barriers like a moth at a light but, unlike a moth, is realising that it is him, his choices and that new ones need to be made.

“I am in the driveway. How did I get here? Road hypnosis. Head up arsesness. Unthinkingness. Lack of awareness. Self-beating upness. Uselessness. This is futile. Lock car, close gate, open house, open a bottle of wine, and sit on couch. Make dinner, eat dinner, switch on TV, glaze over rugby results, wait. For the movie. For something to happen. Nothing ever seems to happen. Inside my own house are rails of habit and unthinking actions. Planned by me at some time to do what? Create a state of unthinkingness. Why? So I can stand still. Why? So I don’t go off the rails. Which rails? Does it matter? Circles within circles. I once read that the writings of Philip K Dick made other sci-fi writers look like a bunch of circle jerks in a cul de sac. I live in that cul de sac except there is no jerking. Some kind of voyeurism, some kind of inertia.”