I’ve been writing a lot recently. Burning and working, sitting at my laptop and alternating between furious finger strokes and moments of bemused gazings out my bedroom window. I’ve hit about 25,000 words, and am going strong. I feel like a reckless adventurer who half listened to the sage’s advice as to how to cross a swamp filled with quicksand, and is now racing through treacherous territory, unsure exactly of where to place his feet but too exhilirated to slow down and take care. That is, after all, what second drafts are for, are they not?