Hello strangers. I have been absent due to manically trying to finish Big Men's Boots, my next book. Much frantic writing has been taking place at the little table in my kitchen. My plan is to publish by e book the first of the three books that make up the trilogy that is Big Men's Boots; the first this month, followed by another two e books, and then a paperback of all three; my aim is to have them all out by the autumn, like coloured leaves! - page leaves - not that my page leaves will be coloured; but they will be there: in black and white - this is what I tell myself and indeed, there are deadlines - as in end points, though I do worry about 'dead lines' too, as in lines that don't work in the narrative - I am in the final drafting phase of e book no.1, so veer between thinking the task is hopeless and the lines may indeed be dead and being optimistic at the same time: all very quixotic and spasmodic given I write whenever I get a chance; it's all very grabby and my husband is taking up a lot of slack, but then he is my constant hero.
In a moment of craziness (one of the moments that wasn't spent writing) I hacked off some of my hair - I know very Van Goughian - especially since I was left with two ear-shaped flunks (yes they failed) of hair on either side of my face; and now I look like a Picasso. I had to commandeer my son to help me straighten out the back. In his words, "you have cut a bob in the front and you have a mullet jamming at the back." Yes he tells it like it is and is a smart****to boot. After the hair jutting (not cutting) fiasco, firstborn accompanied me to Sainsbury's so that he could blow the year's budget on snacks. I discussed the time period of the novel and how I do my research: "You mean you read Grazia 1905, in the bath Mum," he said.
|This is how I roll|