I’m aware I haven’t written for a few days. But I have been writing … and now I know that these three little dots (…) are supposed to have a space before and after them. I received my edited manuscript a week ago and I’ve so far gone through 120 pages of the 187 page novel.
It’s okay, so far. I haven’t let myself look at the pages before I’m working on them, so each comment is a feeling of surprise and relief. (Except when I was still tantalising myself with it, a present unopened, stroking it by scrolling down and then switching it off without downloading it).
For good or for bad, I compartmentalise everything. Maybe it’s because I need structure or p’raps I’m a control freak (I know which one most people would say).
I’m happy doing it, there’s nothing wrong with it. Trouble is, there are times when the boxes into which go “Work”, “Friends”, “Boyfriend”, “Family”, and “Book” start leaking and a few overflows occur. The day job is pressured (more accurately: … is a pressurised bomb with the constant threat of explosion …), and while I’ve got other foci for my mind when I’m not at work, it’s beginning to spill into conversation at home.
In the meantime, I want to spend every minute of the day and night on my book, while Himself wants to spend every minute with me. I haven’t seen my mum in two weeks, thanks in part to the ice storm last Thursday and I’d like to repaper my bathroom with my dad.
So if you were wondering why the blogs had stopped, see above for the standard white noise that has been taking place in my blogging absence. Consider it at best to be that famous BBC TV test card image of the little girl with the blackboard, noughts & crosses (and a doll?).