This is the worst, absolute worst part of writing.
Making it worse is editing The Austrian Painter, not to mention Whatever Happened to Jake and Patricia Bloom, and World War 1990: The Final Storm.
They're all next and we're unwilling to start something new while those are sitting around.
So this means no percolation, that wonderful period of ideas where we sit around, in the car, at services or a kid's recital and think about the book. Battles swirl overheard, cabinet meetings play out, orders of battle come together.
It's a wonderful feeling, a creative fire, and right now its not happening.
We hate that.
Here's the Anzacs cover, for the hell of it:
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