I've decided that writing is difficult as hell. Writing a book is even worse because of the sheer amount of work that goes into it. There's so much for the mind to account for and keep track of, so many levels of meaning to make clear, so many personalities to keep distinct but natural. All of this amplifies when writing in your own created world, as you have to describe what's in your own mind to the reader.

I've never denied that I live in my own world. What I want to write down seems as natural to me as the physical world around me. Of course, then I have to step back and take a look at what I've written again and try see it through the eyes of someone who can't see what I see when I stare into space. Creating a world is not difficult, but creating a convincing one is. A place that still works when you factor in the laws of physics and the far less tangible (but no less influential) human nature. And therein lies my problem.

I've been trying to write this book for three years now, and to contradict my earlier journal, time is not my enemy so much as perfectionism. It blows. Instead of just plowing through a rough draft and revising it once it's a completed whole like a normal person (I assume normal people do this). I write a few pages and then tear them apart because what's on there is not what I have in my mind. I realise it's just a lack of skill; I know good writing, like drawing, is born of practise, talent and sheer effort. I'm just worried I'm missing at least one of those things....

Also, I'm sick of being cold. Sun, do your job dammit! Trying to type with numb fingers is like trying to play chess with your elbows.

Approaching 1000 pageviews! I suppose that's SOME kind of milestone...