In a twist of fate most cruel, I posted a reply to a comment regarding anti-virus (in response to my entry about the recent ThinkPoint conundrum), and immediately afterwards, something popped up.

Damn you, ThinkPoint! Isn't it obvious that you aren't wanted, you pitiful, greasy little bastard? Get off my shiny new computer and perish in a thousand burning rubbish heaps! Then rub salt into your eyes whilst singing the French national anthem in Anglo-Norwegian! Then gamble away your life's savings (which you've no doubt pilfered off the good, honest and slightly more idiotic members of the Internet) betting on whether a guinea pig will explode on command! You are a pointless use of space! A waste of megabites! I detest you! Go away!

And choose somewhere quiet and remote to go away to. Like Svalbard, for example. No doubt they'll have use for you there.

So. To those of you who are slightly baffled by my sudden reversion to public blogging, I have decided to emerge from beneath my rock. It was difficult; with the weather being as it is I was frozen to the ground. I panicked for a bit, hoping my raw emotion would ionise the air or generate enough heat to set me free, but alas, no luck. I then made like an utter prat and used hot water. Which froze me even more.

Slightly defrosted a million years later, I realised what happened and bought without paying a crowbar from a passing lunatic, chiselled my legs free and then prised my arms off the ground, thus defying the laws of, frankly, everything and breaking reality as a result. My characters scoffed at me saying 'you're as bad as the rest of us!' and then I had them all perish in a fire. The fire was perfectly harmless, you understand, being made of words... to people, anyway. Huzzah!

I am now in the process of figuring out how to unperish all of my characters because without them, my career as a writer will go in the general direction of down the pan. And I hear the pan isn't a very nice place. Cholera, Mafia shootings and the like. It also vaguely resembles a toilet.

Today was my first proper day as a voluntary minion at the ExtraCare Charitable Trust shop! I was on my feet all day, sipping tea and steaming creases out of clothes, but it was awesome. I never thought scalding myself by accident could be so much fun. The people there are all fantastic; crackers, basically, so I feel at home.

The jobs I did today were pretty basic. Steaming clothes, as I said, to make them more presentable, sorting them by size and type and then storing them upstairs. I was pretty much constantly on the go, unless I was waiting for the steamer to heat up, and I'll be doing the same kind of stuff Monday, Wednesday and Friday. I'm keeping Thursdays free for the Scribblepool writing group in Liverpool (which is basically a post-NaNo continuation of the spectacularly fun NaNoWriMo Write-Ins and Meet-Ups) and for the record shop, when I've got the time and the money.

Speaking of which, I shall be gallivanting to St. Smellens tomorrow via my not-so-faithful steed - by which I mean the 34A bus. My only goal, really, is Kaleidoscope Records. I haven't been in a few weeks (well, since just before NaNoWriMo ended) so no doubt the guy's got some new stock in. Maybe. I hope. Plus I can have a chinwag about music, which is always fun.

I was actually considering asking at Kaleidoscope if he'd be willing to take anyone on. With my ExtraCare work, I'm occupado Monday, Wednesday and Friday, but I could always do Tuesday and Saturday. But then I'd probably end up being a shop assistant who buys everything. Like I'm becoming at ExtraCare. Still, it's worth an ask!

Onto the subject of writing, then. I've decided to take a one-week break from 'The Woes of Death', simply for the reason that it's driving me crazy. Yesterday was my first day off, in which I was absolutely loathing the novel. This morning, I thought about it on the way to work (ha! I can say that now!) and I had a little twinge of longing.

This can be taken as a good sign. When I took my break from 'Crimson Dawn' - a break which I am still, technically, in the midst of - I never had that longing. I just couldn't be arsed with it. Nowadays, I think back on it and I'm proud of how for I got but when I consider the story and the plot, it's usually because we've run out of loo roll again. It's looking like 'The Woes of Death' will never enter a bathroom, unless, that is, I discover the Holy Grail - how to write in the bath without getting your pages soggy. The plastic bath rack remains elusive...

When I go back to 'The Woes of Death' next week, I hope to do so feeling raring to go and with a new perspective on the project, and how to round it off. My problem, I think, is that I'm suddenly finding it unfunny. Again. It's not like 'The Great Couch Happening', which is bizarre and freewheeling nonsense where everything's unplanned and I write what the hell I want. I'm at a bit of 'The Woes of Death' where I need to plan; I need a clear idea of how to gather up all those buggering loose plot threads to leave nothing unanswered. So the prose has become less fun, more functional. I should try and find a nice between; something that's fun and functional; bizarre, freewheeling and planned.

But first I need to have a break from it to rest my brain.

As it happens, having a rest can be as important as the work itself. But only when demotivation is actually preventing you from getting anything done. I might start breaking my writing routine up a bit, as well, doing a bit in the morning, maybe some when I'm on my lunch break at work (god, how awesome it is to say that!) and then some in the evening.

Whilst also reading, and playing guitar, and playing keyboard, and getting back into my art. And I mustn't forget the basics; eating, breathing, sleeping...

Speaking of which, I'm off to bed to read a bit because it's freezing in this house. I'm walking around wearing duvets, these days. And pillows tied to my feet for insulation, because socks just aren't good enough. I'm also bathing in a formula that is 25% anti-freeze. You know - just in case.