They say the second novel is the toughest, carrying as it does the weight of expectation and the heretofore unfamiliar burden of obligation, and that's definitely proving to be the case so far. It's a very ambitious sequel that does clever (or so I'd like to believe) things with narrative structure - and with every review that points out the flaws in The Grim Company, it becomes that little bit more challenging to maintain the iron certainty and blinding self-delusion that can be so beneficial to getting a book written. The heart soars with each "An exciting, distinctly original debut novel containing such imaginative vision as to take fantasy to new heights"... only to plummet like a stone with zingers such as "Ouch, it must have hurt when Luke Scull ripped off Joe Abercrombie so hard that even affectations of speech were liberally stolen."
The best thing to do is obviously to break my wireless router over my knee or else go and live in a cave while I'm working on my second novel... but then what would I do when I'm stumped for a synonym for snow (I swear there isn't one!) or confused as to the exact difference between a valley and a glen?
The internet; the cause of and solution to all of a writer's problems.
But mainly the cause of, if I'm honest.