Here we are on day three of what has become our annual holiday to Yondah on the Yorke Peninsula, and I've got a lot to live up to since our inaugural visit last September. Back then I was on my second consecutive month of writing 1000 words a day, and in a tremendous burst of inspiration I wrote something like 10,000 words over the five days of our stay and finished the first draft.
The surroundings are certainly conducive to creativity - a luxurious 'beach house' with a wall of windows looking out over the sea towards Kangaroo Island, situated on 300 acres of farm land, with no neighbours for literally miles. Plus I'm most of the way through my first month of 1000 words a day on my next manuscript. I know exactly what's going to happen with my characters, if not with the exact details of the plot. I was pretty confident that I'd get the stream of consciousness thing happening and hopefully double my daily word count.
But it's not happening, god damn it. On our first day here I managed a whopping 318 words, but since we didn't get here until 4.30pm I let myself go on that one. Yesterday was much better - I wrote more than 1500 words. That sounds good, but the writing has felt forced. The narrative is not flowing and I'm not happy with where it's going. I feel like I'm doing my characters a disservice. I'm just marking time and writing shit until I get some inspiration. I know that's what I have to do sometimes to keep the propulsion happening, but I'm not feeling good about it.
This is the third day now and I'm still not inspired. I probably shouldn't be putting so much pressure on myself, considering this is supposed to be a holiday and I'm supposed to be relaxing. But I can't help comparing this with my last visit when I was on literary fire. I'm not sure whether I should keep forcing the words out or just go with the flow (when there is one) and only write when the inspiration is there.
I know I'm not going to finish this draft in the next three days, so there's no real hurry. The sun has just come out again after a morning shower, so maybe I'll put the computer away for a while and get outside for some fresh air. Maybe later I'll be ready to write again.
18 October 2010
09 October 2010
Another step in the road to publication
I'm not religious and I'm not sure whether or not I believe in fate, but sometimes it does seem as if random decisions converge to give you the opportunities you've been hoping for.
A couple of weeks ago I found out that I'd secured a place on the Hachette Manuscript Development Program, but it didn't happen quite as I'd expected it to. For one thing, I'd never intended to enter the manuscript that was chosen. The program asked for strong commercial fiction, so naturally I assumed my chick lit mystery manuscript would be far more suitable than my first manuscript, which, while not exactly literary fiction, certainly wouldn't have the same commercial appeal. Or so I thought.
A few days before applications closed, I remembered that first manuscript, which I'd sweated and toiled over through five drafts, two assessments and countless readings, and which had been languishing on my computer for longer than I'd ever intended. I sent an email to my mate Bek, who had read several of said drafts, and asked her if she thought I should enter it in the program as well.
'Are you mental?' she replied. 'Of course you should enter it!'
So I paid the extra $50 and sent off my two manuscripts, still assuming that if one or the other would be successful, surely it'd be the chick lit version.
Fast forward a couple of months and I get a hysterical email from Bek that her urban fantasy manuscript was one of 50 that had been long-listed for the program. Naturally I was happy for her, as all good friends would be, but I was kind of bummed out too. Great, I thought. Guess neither of mine got in. A week later I got an email from the Queensland Writers Centre to say that, unfortunately, on this occasion my application was unsuccessful. But we encourage you to keep writing, etc etc.
I was pretty disappointed, but I figured I'd left that first manuscript lying around for far too long and it was time to do something about it. I sent off a query email to a literary agent to see if they'd be interested in seeing a sample of the work, but I got a prompt response politely telling me to bugger off. Cue temporary depression, the bane of every writer. Maybe I'm just not good enough. Maybe I'll never get published. Maybe the 5am starts have all been for nothing.
So I gave up on it again and I turned my attention to starting the second instalment in my chick lit series. I came up with a plot and I started to write. And it was awesome. I remembered why I was doing this. If I never got published, it wouldn't matter. I write because I'm a writer.
Then, one Friday morning at work I get a call from the Queensland Writers Centre. The publisher has requested your full manuscript, A Recipe For Balance. You've been long-listed. It never occurred to me to ask why the rejection email, why the call a full month after Bek got her call? I sent off the manuscript, the one I'd never expected to get in, and hoped for the best.
In the meantime, I began my annual 1000 words a day for 30 days jaunt. The words were flowing, I went back into the world of my characters that I hadn't been able to let go after one book. And then the following Friday, I got another call. I'd got into the program. Oh my god. And even better, my friend Bek had got in too!
I've known Bek since I first moved to Murray Bridge in Year 7. We were the geeky girls who read books on the way to class and wrote stories during the lunch hour. We've always dreamt of being published, and over the years we've read each other's work, praised and criticised it, but always supported each other towards our dream, even when we've lived at opposite ends of the country. And these two geeky girls are two of eight chosen ones, out of more than 220 entries from across Australia.
In November we'll attend an intensive five day retreat in Brisbane where we'll work with editors from a publishing house to develop our manuscripts to a publishable standard. We may not get published. We probably won't. But the experience, the industry insight and the opportunity to meet other writers at similar stages in their writing careers will be invaluable, and something we'll likely never forget.
Meanwhile, I'm still averaging 1000 words a day on my new novel. And once I've finished the first draft, I'll go back for a third draft on the second one. I'll probably work on three different manuscripts in as many months. And I've always thought I was hopeless at multi-tasking.
Going back to the fate thing, it's amazing how you can be down in the dumps one minute, and the next you're on top of the world. I wasn't even going to enter A Recipe For Balance. I'd started to think it was unpublishable, unmarketable and simply not good. The validation that I'm doing something right has been worth it alone.
I can't express my appreciation for the support and congratulations I've had from everyone, including my fantastic workplace, strongly enough.
Hopefully, in a few months' time, I'll have some more good news to share. But if I don't, I know I'll still be getting up at 5am, writing and re-drafting, cursing and rejoicing in my craft. Because I have to. I'm a writer.
A couple of weeks ago I found out that I'd secured a place on the Hachette Manuscript Development Program, but it didn't happen quite as I'd expected it to. For one thing, I'd never intended to enter the manuscript that was chosen. The program asked for strong commercial fiction, so naturally I assumed my chick lit mystery manuscript would be far more suitable than my first manuscript, which, while not exactly literary fiction, certainly wouldn't have the same commercial appeal. Or so I thought.
A few days before applications closed, I remembered that first manuscript, which I'd sweated and toiled over through five drafts, two assessments and countless readings, and which had been languishing on my computer for longer than I'd ever intended. I sent an email to my mate Bek, who had read several of said drafts, and asked her if she thought I should enter it in the program as well.
'Are you mental?' she replied. 'Of course you should enter it!'
So I paid the extra $50 and sent off my two manuscripts, still assuming that if one or the other would be successful, surely it'd be the chick lit version.
Fast forward a couple of months and I get a hysterical email from Bek that her urban fantasy manuscript was one of 50 that had been long-listed for the program. Naturally I was happy for her, as all good friends would be, but I was kind of bummed out too. Great, I thought. Guess neither of mine got in. A week later I got an email from the Queensland Writers Centre to say that, unfortunately, on this occasion my application was unsuccessful. But we encourage you to keep writing, etc etc.
I was pretty disappointed, but I figured I'd left that first manuscript lying around for far too long and it was time to do something about it. I sent off a query email to a literary agent to see if they'd be interested in seeing a sample of the work, but I got a prompt response politely telling me to bugger off. Cue temporary depression, the bane of every writer. Maybe I'm just not good enough. Maybe I'll never get published. Maybe the 5am starts have all been for nothing.
So I gave up on it again and I turned my attention to starting the second instalment in my chick lit series. I came up with a plot and I started to write. And it was awesome. I remembered why I was doing this. If I never got published, it wouldn't matter. I write because I'm a writer.
Then, one Friday morning at work I get a call from the Queensland Writers Centre. The publisher has requested your full manuscript, A Recipe For Balance. You've been long-listed. It never occurred to me to ask why the rejection email, why the call a full month after Bek got her call? I sent off the manuscript, the one I'd never expected to get in, and hoped for the best.
In the meantime, I began my annual 1000 words a day for 30 days jaunt. The words were flowing, I went back into the world of my characters that I hadn't been able to let go after one book. And then the following Friday, I got another call. I'd got into the program. Oh my god. And even better, my friend Bek had got in too!
I've known Bek since I first moved to Murray Bridge in Year 7. We were the geeky girls who read books on the way to class and wrote stories during the lunch hour. We've always dreamt of being published, and over the years we've read each other's work, praised and criticised it, but always supported each other towards our dream, even when we've lived at opposite ends of the country. And these two geeky girls are two of eight chosen ones, out of more than 220 entries from across Australia.
In November we'll attend an intensive five day retreat in Brisbane where we'll work with editors from a publishing house to develop our manuscripts to a publishable standard. We may not get published. We probably won't. But the experience, the industry insight and the opportunity to meet other writers at similar stages in their writing careers will be invaluable, and something we'll likely never forget.
Meanwhile, I'm still averaging 1000 words a day on my new novel. And once I've finished the first draft, I'll go back for a third draft on the second one. I'll probably work on three different manuscripts in as many months. And I've always thought I was hopeless at multi-tasking.
Going back to the fate thing, it's amazing how you can be down in the dumps one minute, and the next you're on top of the world. I wasn't even going to enter A Recipe For Balance. I'd started to think it was unpublishable, unmarketable and simply not good. The validation that I'm doing something right has been worth it alone.
I can't express my appreciation for the support and congratulations I've had from everyone, including my fantastic workplace, strongly enough.
Hopefully, in a few months' time, I'll have some more good news to share. But if I don't, I know I'll still be getting up at 5am, writing and re-drafting, cursing and rejoicing in my craft. Because I have to. I'm a writer.
05 September 2010
Should apostrophes be phased out?
Apostrophes seem to be the least understood and most frequently stuffed up element of the English language. Possessions, contractions, quotations, plural-possessive... so many rules to remember. When you throw in the contrary its and it's, it's (excuse the pun) no wonder that people get confused. And then there's the people who add an apostrophe into any word ending with an s. But don't get me started on that.
We all learnt this stuff in primary school, right? Why is it that I got it and thousands didn't? Is it for the same reason that I still to this day do not know how to calculate a percentage - i.e. I don't have a mind for maths and science; others aren't good with English? Or are the rules just overly complicated?
There's a school of thought that apostrophes should be phased out entirely. They ARE overly complicated, they're contradictory and their misuse further mangles the meaning of whatever is being communicated.
The intention of the word/phrase should be clear from what's being said, not from a little crescent-shaped mark placed strategically between two letters.
Imagine how much easier it would be to teach grammar at school without all these extra rules and clauses that cancel each other out? The English language is complicated enough as it is, right?
University lecturers would be grateful for the extra time students spent actually learning how to write well rather than getting bogged down in punctuation.
It actually sounds like a pretty good idea, in theory. And language isn't a static thing - it's developing all the time. Why not make it more accessible for all?
But if you ask me, we'd be selling ourselves short. Why dumb down a language that, when used properly, can be as intricate and beautiful as it can be a simple form of communication? A famous writer, I can't remember which, once said that there's nothing in this world more beautiful than a correctly used semi-colon. And someone else said there's nothing so over-used in university papers.
But if we start by getting rid of apostrophes, what next? Do we ban semi-colons too, because so few uni students know how to use them correctly? And should we then forget about commas because they so often hang randomly and unnecessarily in the middle of sentences? And how about full stops while we're at it? Maybe if we got rid of all punctuation, then no one would struggle with writing again!
then all our sentences would look like this wed never have to pause for breath people would have to work out the meaning by themselves because thered be no visual indication of a contraction or proper nouns or speech itd be liberating
Or liber8ing, even.
I'm not against change, really I'm not. But as a professional writer, I'm a bit of a purist. I appreciate the English language for all its intricacies and its complications, and I enjoy strumming it as a musician would a guitar.
Sounds selfish, I guess. I suppose it is. But to continue with my music metaphor, it just doesn't make any sense to me to turn an operatic score into a nursery rhyme.
We all learnt this stuff in primary school, right? Why is it that I got it and thousands didn't? Is it for the same reason that I still to this day do not know how to calculate a percentage - i.e. I don't have a mind for maths and science; others aren't good with English? Or are the rules just overly complicated?
There's a school of thought that apostrophes should be phased out entirely. They ARE overly complicated, they're contradictory and their misuse further mangles the meaning of whatever is being communicated.
The intention of the word/phrase should be clear from what's being said, not from a little crescent-shaped mark placed strategically between two letters.
Imagine how much easier it would be to teach grammar at school without all these extra rules and clauses that cancel each other out? The English language is complicated enough as it is, right?
University lecturers would be grateful for the extra time students spent actually learning how to write well rather than getting bogged down in punctuation.
It actually sounds like a pretty good idea, in theory. And language isn't a static thing - it's developing all the time. Why not make it more accessible for all?
But if you ask me, we'd be selling ourselves short. Why dumb down a language that, when used properly, can be as intricate and beautiful as it can be a simple form of communication? A famous writer, I can't remember which, once said that there's nothing in this world more beautiful than a correctly used semi-colon. And someone else said there's nothing so over-used in university papers.
But if we start by getting rid of apostrophes, what next? Do we ban semi-colons too, because so few uni students know how to use them correctly? And should we then forget about commas because they so often hang randomly and unnecessarily in the middle of sentences? And how about full stops while we're at it? Maybe if we got rid of all punctuation, then no one would struggle with writing again!
then all our sentences would look like this wed never have to pause for breath people would have to work out the meaning by themselves because thered be no visual indication of a contraction or proper nouns or speech itd be liberating
Or liber8ing, even.
I'm not against change, really I'm not. But as a professional writer, I'm a bit of a purist. I appreciate the English language for all its intricacies and its complications, and I enjoy strumming it as a musician would a guitar.
Sounds selfish, I guess. I suppose it is. But to continue with my music metaphor, it just doesn't make any sense to me to turn an operatic score into a nursery rhyme.
13 July 2010
Words I enjoy
I get a lot of pleasure out of words. Lame, I know. I'm a self-confessed word nerd. Ask my workmates - I got wildly excited when my 4th edition Macquarie Thesaurus arrived, a prudent, yet (for me) luxurious pre-end-of-financial-year-we've-still-got-some-money-left-in-the-budget-so-we-might-as-well-spend-it purchase.
So, I really love words. Here are some of the words I particularly enjoy. This list is not exhaustive:
So, I really love words. Here are some of the words I particularly enjoy. This list is not exhaustive:
- continuity
- concatenate (OK, so I only found this word when learning how to use Microsoft Excel and I've never actually used it in a sentence, but I like it nevertheless)
- vacillate
- subversive
- albeit
- absurd
- retort
- riposte
- intensity (should always be followed up with the words 'in 10 cities')
- lexicon
- utilitarian
- investigative
- juxtapose
- fiery
- prodigious
- surreptitious
- divulge
- trepidation
- pallor
- devious
- antagonistic
- yearn
- turbulent
- detestable
- caress
- evident
- linger
- pursue
- resonate
- anticipation (always makes me think of the Rocky Horror Picture Show - antici..........pation)
- ruminate
- exultant
- shrewd
- languid
- veritable
There are many more, but these are just a few of the words that make me happy. Small things.
22 June 2010
The pitfalls of deadlines
Having a deadline is a great incentive to get things done, particularly at work. But for people like me, for whom procrastination is an art form, they can be dangerous too. I work so well to a deadline that not only do I leave things until the day they're due, but sometimes until the final hours, or even minutes. I recently wrote about 80 per cent of a speech in 20 minutes after vacillating over it for an entire day.
I do some of my best work under extreme pressure, but it tends to give me a few grey hairs here and there too. But the real problem for me is setting personal deadlines when I don't have others relying on me to get it done. My first novel took me around three years to finish, and other than submit it to a couple of competitions and a couple of publishers, it's still sitting on my computer going nowhere. I'm contemplating whether to continue submitting it to publishers or find an agent (apparently just as difficult as finding a publisher), and not actually doing either.
And now I'm on the second draft of my second novel, and I'm dragging my feet. As I've mentioned previously, I wrote the first draft in two months and had really hoped I'd be able to keep the momentum going. And while it's not going too badly, it's not too great either.
An added problem is that I do have a deadline for this one. I'm intending to submit it to the Hachette Livre competition, for which the prize is an intensive retreat with editors from a publishing house. They want strong commercial fiction, and my story is right up that alley. All I have to submit for the first round is the first 50 pages and a synopsis by mid July. Easy, you might say.
It would have been easy had I gone back to those first 50 pages a fortnight or so ago. But it seemed that I had all the time in the world, so in the meantime I've been pushing on with the story, fixing up my plot lines at a snail's pace. I don't have a synopsis, other than a working synopsis that I haven't updated since before I started on the first draft. And synopses are incredibly difficult to write (especially when you still haven't quite worked out how you're going to tie up all those improbable subplots).
The other issue is that, should I be so lucky as to be long-listed for the program - and I have to be optimistic, right? - I'll be expected to submit a full copy of the manuscript in mid August. And I'm only halfway through that.
So what do I focus on first? Do I try to hammer through the whole draft in the next 2-3 weeks to make sure I've got the story right in case I am long-listed? Or do I concentrate on honing those first 50 pages to utter perfection to make sure I have the best possible chance of getting through to the next round?
As difficult as the process is, I know if I'm lucky enough to win a spot on this retreat, I've got a real chance of developing a strong, marketable manuscript. If I can get it right, it has the potential to not only be published, but become a series.
The real burning question here is, why am I wasting time writing a blog post when I should be working on either of the above options?
I do some of my best work under extreme pressure, but it tends to give me a few grey hairs here and there too. But the real problem for me is setting personal deadlines when I don't have others relying on me to get it done. My first novel took me around three years to finish, and other than submit it to a couple of competitions and a couple of publishers, it's still sitting on my computer going nowhere. I'm contemplating whether to continue submitting it to publishers or find an agent (apparently just as difficult as finding a publisher), and not actually doing either.
And now I'm on the second draft of my second novel, and I'm dragging my feet. As I've mentioned previously, I wrote the first draft in two months and had really hoped I'd be able to keep the momentum going. And while it's not going too badly, it's not too great either.
An added problem is that I do have a deadline for this one. I'm intending to submit it to the Hachette Livre competition, for which the prize is an intensive retreat with editors from a publishing house. They want strong commercial fiction, and my story is right up that alley. All I have to submit for the first round is the first 50 pages and a synopsis by mid July. Easy, you might say.
It would have been easy had I gone back to those first 50 pages a fortnight or so ago. But it seemed that I had all the time in the world, so in the meantime I've been pushing on with the story, fixing up my plot lines at a snail's pace. I don't have a synopsis, other than a working synopsis that I haven't updated since before I started on the first draft. And synopses are incredibly difficult to write (especially when you still haven't quite worked out how you're going to tie up all those improbable subplots).
The other issue is that, should I be so lucky as to be long-listed for the program - and I have to be optimistic, right? - I'll be expected to submit a full copy of the manuscript in mid August. And I'm only halfway through that.
So what do I focus on first? Do I try to hammer through the whole draft in the next 2-3 weeks to make sure I've got the story right in case I am long-listed? Or do I concentrate on honing those first 50 pages to utter perfection to make sure I have the best possible chance of getting through to the next round?
As difficult as the process is, I know if I'm lucky enough to win a spot on this retreat, I've got a real chance of developing a strong, marketable manuscript. If I can get it right, it has the potential to not only be published, but become a series.
The real burning question here is, why am I wasting time writing a blog post when I should be working on either of the above options?
07 June 2010
Horse people are f#@%ing crazy
That's what was going through my head earlier this evening as I squelched up the muddy hill of my horse's paddock. My hands were already numb, the wind was cutting through to my bones, and the temperature gauge in my car told me it was 7.5 degrees at 5.15 pm. It was Monday, I was tired and if I hadn't driven so far to get there I would have been tempted to turn around and drive home again.
It's these moments that I wonder what the hell I'm even doing this for. It's expensive, it's time consuming and sometimes I don't even enjoy it that much.
But then my horse, Buzz, walked up to meet me and reached out his nose to breathe in my face. His eyes were soft, his ears were pricked and that sweet, warm smell that only a horse person could love filled my nostrils, and a smile crept across my face. I knew then, as I know every time, that I ride because to not ride would be like trying not to breathe.
Horse and human is one of the oldest - and most unlikely - partnerships. Predator and prey animal were never meant to work together as a team, and that much was apparent as soon as Buzz and I first came together seven years ago.
It's been a difficult road for for the two of us. He was young, with very little training, and I was still getting over losing my last horse. We didn't always get along - in fact, we didn't even really like each other that much. He was difficult to catch, flighty, opinionated, and not the slightest bit connected to me. He was a constant reminder that I wasn't quite the horsewoman I'd imagined myself to be.
When he bucked me off one day I decided that was it: I was going to sell him and find a more suitable equine partner. But something stopped me from going through with it. Maybe I didn't want to give up, or maybe I sensed there was more ahead in our journey. I had him seen by a chiropractor and discovered that his pelvis and all his ribs were out. The poor thing had been quietly putting up with the pain for god knows how long, until he couldn't stand it anymore.
That was a turning point in our relationship, and with slow, careful training, we started to build a connection. It took a long time for us to trust one another, but once we did, we went ahead in leaps and bounds.
We started dressage training, and now I'm doing things with him that I never would have thought possible five years ago. He's so tuned into me that sometimes I only have to think something and he's already doing it. He's become the horse I always wanted. We're doing half passes and training for flying changes and I'm loving every minute of it. Sometimes I have to stop and remind myself that I'm living the dream I've had since I was a little girl: I'm dancing with my horse, and we're doing it together, as partners.
Tonight's ride wasn't the best I've ever had, but it was pretty damn good. It was cold, but it was a beautiful, clear night, still and peaceful.
As I walked back from the paddock to the sound of Buzz's hooves drumming as he galloped back up the hill to his paddock mates, I looked up into the sky covered with a carpet of stars more dazzling than you'll ever see down on the plains, and I felt content. I know how lucky I am to have this in my life. The Adelaide Hills are my place of peace, and my horse is my sanity.
I know I'll be back to do it again in a couple of days.
It's these moments that I wonder what the hell I'm even doing this for. It's expensive, it's time consuming and sometimes I don't even enjoy it that much.
But then my horse, Buzz, walked up to meet me and reached out his nose to breathe in my face. His eyes were soft, his ears were pricked and that sweet, warm smell that only a horse person could love filled my nostrils, and a smile crept across my face. I knew then, as I know every time, that I ride because to not ride would be like trying not to breathe.
Horse and human is one of the oldest - and most unlikely - partnerships. Predator and prey animal were never meant to work together as a team, and that much was apparent as soon as Buzz and I first came together seven years ago.
It's been a difficult road for for the two of us. He was young, with very little training, and I was still getting over losing my last horse. We didn't always get along - in fact, we didn't even really like each other that much. He was difficult to catch, flighty, opinionated, and not the slightest bit connected to me. He was a constant reminder that I wasn't quite the horsewoman I'd imagined myself to be.
When he bucked me off one day I decided that was it: I was going to sell him and find a more suitable equine partner. But something stopped me from going through with it. Maybe I didn't want to give up, or maybe I sensed there was more ahead in our journey. I had him seen by a chiropractor and discovered that his pelvis and all his ribs were out. The poor thing had been quietly putting up with the pain for god knows how long, until he couldn't stand it anymore.
That was a turning point in our relationship, and with slow, careful training, we started to build a connection. It took a long time for us to trust one another, but once we did, we went ahead in leaps and bounds.
We started dressage training, and now I'm doing things with him that I never would have thought possible five years ago. He's so tuned into me that sometimes I only have to think something and he's already doing it. He's become the horse I always wanted. We're doing half passes and training for flying changes and I'm loving every minute of it. Sometimes I have to stop and remind myself that I'm living the dream I've had since I was a little girl: I'm dancing with my horse, and we're doing it together, as partners.
Tonight's ride wasn't the best I've ever had, but it was pretty damn good. It was cold, but it was a beautiful, clear night, still and peaceful.
As I walked back from the paddock to the sound of Buzz's hooves drumming as he galloped back up the hill to his paddock mates, I looked up into the sky covered with a carpet of stars more dazzling than you'll ever see down on the plains, and I felt content. I know how lucky I am to have this in my life. The Adelaide Hills are my place of peace, and my horse is my sanity.
I know I'll be back to do it again in a couple of days.
22 May 2010
On having too many commitments
For someone with a fairly strong lazy streak, I tend to pack a lot into my life.
This morning, for instance, I'm forcing myself to do some more editing on my manuscript in between coffee and breakfast, but there are a lot of other competing requirements.
My dog, Jedi, is bouncing around the house turning himself inside out with the sheer effort of letting me know just how important is it that he goes for a walk as soon as possible.
I should probably unstack the dishwasher before the dirty dishes start breeding and taking over the kitchen bench.
I should probably take some time to relax with my husband, George, after a long week of work.
I need to keep up with my exercise, because as much as it's a pain in the proverbial to do it, I always feel better afterwards.
We have very little fresh food left in the house, so we'll need to buy some fruit and veg sometime if we want to avoid scurvy.
I need to bring some firewood in so we can actually have fires at night without risking pulling out spider-infested logs in the dark.
At some stage I want to pull the bed out and vacuum underneath it, since there's six years' worth of dust and animal hair built up. (But actually, I'm kind of scared of what I might find under there)
I want to actually do something with the garden while the weather is still good and before the winter weeds take over.
And all this time, the clock is ticking down to 12.30 when I have to go and ride my horse, which again I always enjoy. But I'll get home as the sun's going down and I'll be cold and tired and then I'll have to get in the shower and get ready to go out for dinner with friends. Which I don't begrudge, but suddenly the weekend is looking horribly short.
Is it any wonder I find it so difficult to get any editing/writing done? At the least, I have moved past a block I was having with my plot and am once again progressing, however slowly that might be.
Through all this, my cat is sitting next to me, purring away, with nothing more on his agenda for the day but sleep, sleep and more sleep.
So which of us is really the intelligent species here?
This morning, for instance, I'm forcing myself to do some more editing on my manuscript in between coffee and breakfast, but there are a lot of other competing requirements.
My dog, Jedi, is bouncing around the house turning himself inside out with the sheer effort of letting me know just how important is it that he goes for a walk as soon as possible.
I should probably unstack the dishwasher before the dirty dishes start breeding and taking over the kitchen bench.
I should probably take some time to relax with my husband, George, after a long week of work.
I need to keep up with my exercise, because as much as it's a pain in the proverbial to do it, I always feel better afterwards.
We have very little fresh food left in the house, so we'll need to buy some fruit and veg sometime if we want to avoid scurvy.
I need to bring some firewood in so we can actually have fires at night without risking pulling out spider-infested logs in the dark.
At some stage I want to pull the bed out and vacuum underneath it, since there's six years' worth of dust and animal hair built up. (But actually, I'm kind of scared of what I might find under there)
I want to actually do something with the garden while the weather is still good and before the winter weeds take over.
And all this time, the clock is ticking down to 12.30 when I have to go and ride my horse, which again I always enjoy. But I'll get home as the sun's going down and I'll be cold and tired and then I'll have to get in the shower and get ready to go out for dinner with friends. Which I don't begrudge, but suddenly the weekend is looking horribly short.
Is it any wonder I find it so difficult to get any editing/writing done? At the least, I have moved past a block I was having with my plot and am once again progressing, however slowly that might be.
Through all this, my cat is sitting next to me, purring away, with nothing more on his agenda for the day but sleep, sleep and more sleep.
So which of us is really the intelligent species here?
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