You know you’re marathon writing when you’re living off Cliff bars, coffee, cashews and Daft Punk. When you’re hyped up because it’s nearly 10pm and there’s no place you’d rather be than right here in your chair in your little square office with your glowing screen and your brainchildren your cast of characters and your plot and an array of instruments lined up before you ranging from bandsaw and sledgehammer to a scalpel and surgeon’s laser.

Hi.

Bruce Wayne.

I’ve got to go to work.