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A writer’s life

What a funny old day. Saturdays as a writer follow an expected path. A swim – a must. It has to be sea water (no wetsuit), something I’ve been doing all winter. That’s usually followed by an emergency shop (bread, milk, loo roll). An emergency house clean (floors, dishwasher, washing machine) closely followed by as much writing as I can squeeze in-between. 

Today was different…

As a user of the Guernsey Bathing Pools (as featured in The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Society) I have a responsibility to help maintain what I use so I spent the morning cleaning up weed and rocks. Did I do any writing? No.

After, I was dragged to the Guernsey Boat show to look at all the boats we couldn’t afford. Did I write? No. 

The cupboard’s bare which necessitated a mercy dash to the Coop. Did I write? No.

We have a problem at home, a huge problem that is covered in feathers ( Hamish, the seagull)  and seems to like sitting on our chimney, just under my car so an urgent visit to the car wash was called for. Did I write? Too right. In the five minutes while the washers were working their magic I filled four sides with my own form of illegible hand writing. 

I’ve reaches the 20% mark on my current WIP, a psychological thriller and my second in this genre. The first is with a very special book publisher but there’s no point in getting my hopes up too much. While I wait I’ll carry on writing and carry on selling books. In this vein ENGLISHWOMAN IN PARIS is free this weekend. Here’s the link 

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