Nice people have agreed to read my book project as it is at the moment to help me see it for what it might be. I think that it is in perhaps its third draft, a true horrorshow of lumps and knots. A tree growing around obstacles. I wrote it in fifteen minute bursts on trains, waiting for meetings, at lunch, at gigs. It isn’t very jointed at the moment, or maybe it is double jointed which is too many joints.

The initial feedback that my readers are giving me is nice. Everyone is being kind so far. It’s daunting to hear any comments. It’s still so fresh to me. Already the comments are helping me step away from the writing and to see the book project as one whole rather than lots of small parts written in different moods and distractions.

I waver between despair and hope. I’ve put the manuscript aside for now so that I can read it myself all the way through with more perspective.

I’ve made a start on something new in the meantime. I don’t know where that’s going either. Writing is like walking through laundry snapping on a line on a windy day.

Listening: FFS/ Girl in a Band.

Reading: Stefan Zweig/ David Mitchell.