Here's a day …
Wake up. Usually from a nightmare where I'm being chased or I've lost all my teeth or I'm caught out in a crime (do other writers have nightmares?). Rejoice for 10 minutes straight that I don't have to go to day job. Make coffee. Check emails. Check Facebook. Slap myself on wrist for clicking link on cats that look like Mussolini. Move away from computer. Make more coffee. Sit at kitchen table even though there is a perfectly good writing desk in the perfectly good writing room. Sigh. Read over what I did yesterday. Sigh, dramatically. Scratch out words. Declare none of them good. Go back to computer. Research whether it is too late to enrol in medical school. Calculate it is too late to become a doctor. Sigh, loudly. Take a bath. Read a book. Walk to shops and run into seven crazy people. Slap oneself on back for moving to a place that has so many 'interesting' characters. Walk home. Check clock. Too early for wine. Make more coffee. Sit back at kitchen table. Scratch out more words but spend most of the time staring at the mess and thinking other people seem to keep clean houses. Slap oneself on back for being slovenly. Sigh, in pain. Check the clock. Heat up more coffee. Sit down again. Scratch out more words. Things start to come together. Could write for hours. Rustle at the front door. Boyfriend walks in from hard day at work, demands attention. Sigh.
