As you have probably realised, I’m not very good at thinking up clever titles. ‘A Rock and a Hard Place’ has been used too many times to be a good title for book two. But my dear publisher says finding one is not urgent and can be done towards the end!
We are right in the middle of our quarantine, after our short trip to France. We are actually quite enjoying it and Mike has finally unpacked some of the boxes. It does the heart good to pop a head round the the garage door and see all the shiny bottles, probably not the liver so much! We must start instigating some alcohol free days again!
So it’s the beginning of September, and I’m in a holding pattern. Waiting for something to happen. I am grateful and pleased that I have actually been published. I truly am, but it still doesn’t feel enough. Oh, ungrateful heart, be at peace, do what you can do next and wait patiently. But all that I can do next is begin another book, to start the process all over again. And a small niggly part of me wonders if it could possibly be worth it.
When you first begin to write, particularly the first ever book, there is a picture in your mind of you sitting somewhere cold, (I’m not sure why it’s got to be cold but it does), with a cup of something warm at your elbow steaming gently, while you scribble feverishly. It’s not like that, it’s never been like that, except for a few scarily intense poets. It’s just hard work. So as at all boundary’s, in this case a change of season, you question why do you do it? Why? Oh, why?
And then you find your lap top or notebook and pick up where you last left off. And I do have a very large cup of coffee at my elbow!
