I got let out of work three hours early yesterday and decided to be productive with it. Well... my version of being productive anyway. So I sat in a bar all afternoon drinking rum-and-gingers and tried to get some writing done on my novel. Much to my surprise, I actually got quite a lot written. Nothing award-winning certainly, but solid first draft stuff. And even better, it was material for the front of the novel, which I've been sort of coyly avoiding, because it seems more difficult and important than just chosing some random fun moment from later in the novel (and writing that as if it were it's only little island).