I started my re-write yesterday as I was on the bus. Unfortunately, my uselessly wimpy stomach made me stop writing after 2 paragraphs because I can’t do much more than sit reeeeeeeally still in a moving vehicle without feeling as though my stomach will be popping out like a jut lip. So, I did what any self-respecting would-be author would do – I found a restaurant, ordered some green tea and a plate of yam fries, and typed away on my weird MacBook until the idea ran out.

Seemed to work out ok, but I can’t afford to be yam-frying my way through an entire novel. I’m going to have to train my stomach to behave, or I’ll be running my bank account dry to pacify it.

Ah, the life of a writer. This was my dream?