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Total word count: 2947

Slowed to an agonising crawl, but words are still sprouting from my fingers and taking hopeful root on the page, which is the important thing.

I could be trying to do too much with the opening, but why take a simple approach when it can be over-complicated? My unofficial motto. If it comes off, then it should be exactly what I’ve been hoping for. I sense a great deal of editing and shifting in the near future. Still, winter is a good time for writing. Encroaching darkness and perishing cold foster the instinct to burrow and merely peer out at the world like a blinking mole.

More work tomorrow, and the beginning of the hunt for a chariot around the car-lots of Edinburgh. So, many vagabonds and potential hoodlums to steer clear of. Perhaps when we finally become mobile, we can visit that rural corner of Somerset that I am setting the novel in.