Poetic Licence (Or: the point at which you have to Make Stuff Up)

It takes me a while to write a story. Some days, it takes me a while to do anything—wake up, drag my lazy arse out of bed, crack my back into something resembling the shape it should be—but I’m a notoriously slow writer. Part of this is a consequence of my day job; it’s hard to be coherent when I’m flicking from night shifts to day shifts and back again. But a large part of it is down to my innate fear of getting things wrong, which leads me to research, more research and then an addi...