Not another one…

This morning I despaired. I despaired because I woke up after a restless night and sat at the laptop for half an hour to write down what I thought would make a brilliant short story, called “A Tornado in Chapel Hulme”. I despaired because a) it made me late for work, and b) as I began writing it, I realised this wasn’t a brilliant short story at all, but quite possibly an epic novella in disguise, and I got sucked in.

I suffer from an overabundance of ideas yet have very little time to write them, so this story is particularly annoying because I can see it being a lot of fun and a possible breakthrough in terms of my writing – something that would define my writing more than the previous two books, or even The Black Hours (but then my imagination is sure to say that – it wants the book written).

So what do I do? Do I trust common-sense and start The Black Hours in April, or do I go with my heart and imagination, and write something that could just grow into a behemoth of lopsided proportions or could possibly be the best thing I’ve written thus far? Oh, and I’ve also got two weeks worth of further nips and tucks on The Horde of Mhorrer too.

Bugger.