It's been a strange year. I've been commissioned to write two scripts for FilmFour, and I've also had two films on the festival circuit - The Principles Of Lust and The Death Of Klinghoffer. Juggling the two has been difficult.

I fancied writing something lighter after two very intense films. Twist is about a bunch of unsuccessful young magicians who want to pull off a casino heist. I imagined myself tossing back cocktails in a fabulous frock while exchanging witty repartee with glamorous, reckless men. Actually I spent long and deeply boring hours in grim gaming places where the carpets are filthy and everyone is desperate, and if you try to interrupt them while they grimly flush all their cash down the toilet, they want to kill you.

"I LOVE MAGIC NOW"

Hanging out with magicians was more fun. I love magic now, the history of it, the ideas, the dreaming of impossibilities and making them happen. Going to enormous lengths to pull off a little miracle.

The other script, still Untitled, is set in Bradford. Lucy Pardee, my wonderful researcher, and I spent hilarious and life-affirming weeks hanging out with Asian teenage boys who we totally fell in love with, even though they were constantly telling us about smacking people on the neck with a hammer.

But that's research. Research is fun. You have an idea and you think: This is going to be the most fantastic film ever in the history of the whole universe!!! And you go on a journey and explore a world that interests you and people are extraordinarily generous with their time and keen to explain themselves. And you come back laden with tiny notebooks full of scribbled conversations, ideas you've had in the middle of the night, and a Plan. And you sit. Sit. Sit. Sit. Aaaaaargh.

And there are times when the duende deigns to make an appearance. And then your characters spring to life and people talk to each other and do surprising things, and links form in your mind and it's hard to keep up. But not always. Sometimes not for months.

I have a sort of superstition about this horrible, long, bobbly, yellow jumper I have to wear. And the worse things go, the more I have to wear it. And I can't wash it. So then I stink. I'm stuck and I stink. It's 3pm. I've had breakfast. Twice. And lunch. And snacks. And made busy and important phone calls. And emails. And rewritten the same sentence a few times. And wondered about making a minor character the long lost father of...

The doorbell rings. I answer it hoping that the smelly jumper will make it look less as though I'm still in my pyjamas. I try and pretend that I'm not very well. "I'm not very well," I mumble feebly. But the courier isn't interested. He just wants me to sign for the parcel so he can get away from the smell. I'm hoping he thinks the smell might be connected to me not being very well.

Obviously I am mad. If I'm worried about what people think, I should just go ahead and brush my teeth. Another 15 minutes gone. People phone and ask me to do things. But I feel too guilty. I have to work. I can't work. I must stay in and sit here some more.

"PEOPLE SCREECHING ABUSE AT ME"

Three new things happened. I washed my yellow jumper. I hopped over to Dublin at the weekend to introduce The Principles Of Lust at the festival. The only people in the whole world I envy are directors who love festival life. I don't mind introducing the film or the Q and A thing after it. I don't really mind people screeching abuse at me - "Your film is disgusting rubbish and you are disgusting!"

I am relieved when people understand and are moved by my work. Some people loved the film. Some hated it. Some hated it and thought it was a good film. I'm used to that now. Sort of.

And Tom Stone, a very talented Swedish magician, flew over to spend a couple of days hanging around casinos with me and flinging ideas around. Sometimes to get unstuck you have to ask for help. Obvious, really. I'm closer to understanding the way magicians think. Now I have millions of script thoughts and am very excited about finishing Twist. But scared too. I'm circling over it because as soon as I pounce that's it. End of my life and beginning of night into day, chain-smoking madness. I do love it though.