Fresh Start
Tried to conceal my glee as I dragged 3 reluctant children plus lunchboxes, bookbags and various bits of PE kit (almost certainly not all the required items-- some won't be discovered until the ironing pile is conquered, and by then the girls may all be at university) to school this morning, and drove home dreaming of tall, sun-kissed men with slanting, come-to-bed eyes and cruelly mocking smiles.
I've been writing this book in my head since the beginning of January. In fact I even got as far as writing a couple of chapters of it on my laptop before I recieved a request for the full manuscript of the last book from a lovely editor at HMB, and had to break off to finish that. But I'm so excited by the thought of this one. The characters have been growing more vivid in my head as time has passed, until I've reached the stage where I'm half expecting to open my mouth and hear the well-bred tones of my posh-girl heroine come out, rather like that scene from The Exorcist. Slewed the car into the garage and raced into the house... and was brought up short by the extreme squalor that greeted me.
Worksurfaces pebbledashed with Weetabix. The cat thoughtfully finishing off the remains of milk in 3 half-drunk glasses. Papers, milk cartons and a wince-inducingly huge number of wine bottles spilling out of the recycling boxes. The fridge almost empty except for an industrial sized pack of lunchbox fromage frais, an antique wedge of cheese and a bag of silage that possibly used to be salad. Clearly the book was going to have to wait.
But the good news is that, having swabbed down the kitchen and been to the supermarket I was rewarded by immediate connection to the internet. For the past couple of weeks our computer has been behaving like some very erratic elderly relative, suddenly drifting off in the middle of a subject and having days where no communication of any kind with the world of cyber-space is happening at all. As a result of an extremely long and challenging phonecall to a helpline in India the other night, we've moved the computer from its old position at the end of an extension lead, and piled it up in a corner of the kitchen, where it can enjoy sole possession of its very own phone socket, which seems to have appeased it for the time being. And so, in the name of research, I spent the remainder of the time until the school run called happily visiting sites about luxury yachts and far flung destinations.
Which is all a long and convoluted way of saying that my word count is still 00000.
(If we had a little tool which showed how many times I'd checked my email to see if the lovely editor had got in touch, I'd be way up there in the thousands.)
I've been writing this book in my head since the beginning of January. In fact I even got as far as writing a couple of chapters of it on my laptop before I recieved a request for the full manuscript of the last book from a lovely editor at HMB, and had to break off to finish that. But I'm so excited by the thought of this one. The characters have been growing more vivid in my head as time has passed, until I've reached the stage where I'm half expecting to open my mouth and hear the well-bred tones of my posh-girl heroine come out, rather like that scene from The Exorcist. Slewed the car into the garage and raced into the house... and was brought up short by the extreme squalor that greeted me.
Worksurfaces pebbledashed with Weetabix. The cat thoughtfully finishing off the remains of milk in 3 half-drunk glasses. Papers, milk cartons and a wince-inducingly huge number of wine bottles spilling out of the recycling boxes. The fridge almost empty except for an industrial sized pack of lunchbox fromage frais, an antique wedge of cheese and a bag of silage that possibly used to be salad. Clearly the book was going to have to wait.
But the good news is that, having swabbed down the kitchen and been to the supermarket I was rewarded by immediate connection to the internet. For the past couple of weeks our computer has been behaving like some very erratic elderly relative, suddenly drifting off in the middle of a subject and having days where no communication of any kind with the world of cyber-space is happening at all. As a result of an extremely long and challenging phonecall to a helpline in India the other night, we've moved the computer from its old position at the end of an extension lead, and piled it up in a corner of the kitchen, where it can enjoy sole possession of its very own phone socket, which seems to have appeased it for the time being. And so, in the name of research, I spent the remainder of the time until the school run called happily visiting sites about luxury yachts and far flung destinations.
Which is all a long and convoluted way of saying that my word count is still 00000.
(If we had a little tool which showed how many times I'd checked my email to see if the lovely editor had got in touch, I'd be way up there in the thousands.)
Labels: India
posted by Unknown at 5:13 pm
5 Comments:
With the kitchen now clean, and the recycling safely stowed away, not to mention connection to the Internet, tomorrow promises to be an exciting day!
Welcome back, Imogen!
I'm intrigued. Who's Jeanne and who is number three? And why the anonymity?
I'm sure you can guess which is which, Ms. Parker (we know who you are)! Although once Annie checks in and says a few words, all may become clearer.
We thought we'd write here under our pen names and keep the content specific to our writing careers and publishing hopes.
Yes, that was the idea with the blogs on the NWG. I do think staying away from writing now and then makes a blog more personal, though, just as long as there isn't too much of it.
Actually, I've just been to look at Annie's profile and still haven't a clue who she might be. I've figure out who Eva is, that was easy enough, but I'm intrigued by Annie. Should I know her?
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