Sometimes it's hard

Cromozone's a tough book to live in. A little like creating a smooth sculpture out of metal shards. With bare hands. All quite bleak: set in the future it has an unsentimental view of the environment. I get to lunchtime and wilt. I don't really want to spend the whole afternoon in the same space ... and all the months to come too. Write a few postcards instead, for relief. Then move over to working on a screenplay, much lighter fare.

Maybe that's the way forward. Leaven the load of the novel with lighter stuff.