It was a dark and stormy night ...

Well, not night precisely, but if you count that interlude just before the dawn as night, then night it was. Stormy, certainly. I was wearing my rain coat, hood up. My universe was restricted to a meagre pool of light at my feet cast by the torch that I held in my right hand, and the beating of the rain upon my head. No fencing last night, a mix up with the days, but it was probably just as well as my shoulder still hurt when I stretched it too far.

I trudged along, lost in thought, plots and characters competing for attention. I am going to have to spend next week putting an outline together to give me something to aim for. It's like a programming project - a large problem needs to broken down into discrete chunks that can be tackled one at a time. I can see where the starting point is, but I don't yet have an end point. Terry Pratchett once compared writing a story as being like digging a railway tunnel. You have to work from both ends at the same time, and hope that if you have planned it correctly you will meet up in the middle somewhere.