I know what you're thinking. You're thinking "Phil, you've still got five days to go. You can hit that 50,000 word target". And you're right. Obviously. But what you don't know is that I'm going to a wedding on Saturday, so technically it's only four days. Admittedly, I do have the proven ability to produce copious amounts of rubbish in a very short period of time, but I think 6,000 words a day is probably beyond me.

I haven't given up though. Well, I have given up on the idea of writing fifty thousand words before December, but goddammit, I'm going to finish this story if it kills me. I've just been hampered by circumstances. I wrote 20,000 words in the first half of November, and... um... slightly less in the second half, but that's mainly down to health issues. Amelie's been quite ill, while I've been single-handedly proving the theory that there's no rest for the wicked, by struggling to sleep at night.

It means that for the past week I've only had enough energy to last me until 5pm. I barely have the strength to turn on Simon Mayo. Which isn't condusive to serious out-of-hours novelling. I did produce a whopping 200 words in Uckfield Hospital at lunchtime today, during which I started writing the back story of one of my characters. Quite a long-way-back story. It started in 1750. And I don't mean ten to six. But by 1pm the caffeine in my tea had worn off and I had to give up for the day.

So I plan to continue into December. Possibly 2011. By which time I hope to be sleeping properly. I don't care how long (or short) this thing is, as long as it features the words 'The End'.