
Tuesday-Friday I do do the day job. And if I have the energy,
I try and fit in one or two short writing sessions of maybe 2 hours in the
evening.
And then on Sundays, I do a good half day at my desk.
Except it never quite works out that way.
Last week for example, I had to work at the day job on
Monday because I was taking off a day and a half at the back end of the week. I
had my very first book signing, you see. It was an amazing experience, I
travelled up to Liverpool on Thursday afternoon, answered questions in
Waterstones with the adorable Jane Costello and Iona Grey, and then (slightly
hung over) travelled back to London on Friday morning. I’d planned on writing
on Friday afternoon, but the edits had come in for the U.S. translation
(Zucchini, Eggplant, ‘What’s a Womble?’) of The Two of Us. So instead of progressing
Book 2, I found myself once again editing Book 1.
And I didn’t get any work done in the week because I was
practising my reading for Liverpool. But I’d make up for lost time on Sunday,
right?
What’s that, Mrs Jones? … We’re visiting your folks this weekend?
… You never told me? Oh, did you? … Sorry.

Monday was a bank holiday, we drove back from Coventry to
London, my youngest vomited in the back seat, and then I had to fix the
eldest’s bicycle. Life, they call it.
It’s all wonderful stuff – book signings, foreign editions,
blog tours – and I do have to stop now and then to remind myself to enjoy it. But
it’s also quite stressful. I have been given a tremendous opportunity, and
whist all the stuff around Book 1 is great fun, I can’t neglect Book 2. I have
a deadline and – as they tend to – it’s getting closer.
It’s the official launch party for The Two of Us on
Wednesday, so there will be no ‘work’ done that night. And the paperback goes
on sale the following day, forget about getting anything productive done on
Thursday. To make up for lost time, I slept in the spare room last night and
set the alarm for Horribly Early a.m. so I could fit in a couple of hours
writing before the ‘day job’. I was slap bang in the middle of an anxiety dream
when the bastard went off, and it felt as if someone had pulled my brains out
via the nose and stuffed my skull with wood filler. For the first 40 minutes I
just stared at the computer, eating a banana and sipping my coffee. But then I
got my fingers working and picked up the scene I left on Sunday. It was slow
going. And just when I thought I was beginning to make progress, I realised I’d
written myself into something of a narrative cul-de-sac. I felt like I’d
trapped my characters in an argument that I hadn’t intended – and I didn’t know
how I was going to resolve the situation and get the scene back on track. If
I’d had another hour, maybe, I could have found a way out. But it was 8.00 and
I needed to jump in the shower, kiss the cats, feed the wife, and tickle the
kids behind the ears before running out of the door. Chaos.
I left the house feeling more than a little grumpy. I was
exhausted, and all for what – 700 words that I was probably going to have to
delete. But then, as my train (crowded, obviously) pulled into the platform, it
came to me. I knew the line that would fix my scene. And
the funny thing is, I doubt I’d have come up with it if I’d stayed sitting in
front of the computer. I’d have come up with something, but not this particular
line, which – if I’m allowed – I feel pretty happy with. For now, at least. I’ll
drop it in tonight, after we’ve put the girl’s to bed.
All I need to do now is find time to write a blog post…
No comments:
Post a Comment