I'm beginning to think that I'm spending too much time writing. That's a first and something I'd never thought I'd say. This morning I finished work at four am and spent the next three hours dreaming of my characters'. What they might do, say or react to any given situation. I have, or had a real life but it seems to have vanished.
So I think I'm gong to spend a few weeks painting my rubbish pictures. This is one I knocked off a couple of days ago when my muse decided to desert me. I hope she had a good time. Do muses have to be female? I hope so; the thought of some smelly muse called Kevin or Malcolm looking over my shoulder while I write might be the reason for what passes for my brain turning to mush.