When I was a little girl my family used to go on long walks on the weekends. Sometimes we’d walk along to the beach and run around, my favourite was always going to the local woods. Trips to the woods normally involved picking blackberries on the walk there, playing hide and seek in the undergrowth, and hopefully not falling into the small river.

At the entrance to the woods the paths would often get very muddy, (rain is very common in my part of the world). Sometimes it would be fine but on the way home, especially when I was tired from all the playing I’d get stuck in the mud, badly stuck, feeling myself sinking into the stickiness stuck,needing rescuing by a kindly adult stuck.

On several occasions I’d be rescued only to leave my boots behind, leaving me with very wet and muddy socks for the walk home.

Sadly in recent weeks I have become stuck again, although not in mud this time, but with the chapter I am currently editing. It’s an important chapter and ties together different strands from across the book while setting up the final bits of action. This chapter has a lot of heavy lifting to do, but unfortunately during the drafting and revising part things have gone a bit wrong and the story has turned to dark sticky mud.

For a while I was scared of tackling this chapter, worried that I’d mess up this already messy chapter and ruin the entire book. However, I’ve now realised that this is just fear talking, I am the only one who can finish this chapter, I know what I need to do and just need to get through it.

Unfortunately this means that this time I don’t have a kindly adult who will lift me out, nor anyone to point out the bits that look more solid. Instead I will have to step gingerly, carefully, taking the chapter step by step, trying really hard not to lose my wellington boots along the way.