still coming to a shop near you - I am convinced of this - I resolved not to write much this weekend. I was so exhausted last night, after three solid nights of writing and e-mailing enquiries and printing off synposes and addressing envelopes and stuff, that I couldn't even focus straight to watch telly come ten thirty.
But it's like an addiction, this writing malarkay. No sooner do I tell myself I shan't - than I do. With the pretext that I had to just check my e-mails - then Google Post Office weightage tables for the posting off of requested sample chapters (YES, requested sample chapters already! Did I also mention a request for the Full too? Oh, I didn't?) anyway - by the time I've navigated away from E-mail, Royal Mail, local weather and then watched five or six cats doing absurdly stupid things on camera - along with one dog whose front legs are in fact wheels - bless him.... I thought I'd just see where I got to on my latest Teen thing.
And three thousand words later - I'm still here. Why can't I just leave it alone? Maybe it's because it's in my blood. It's definitely in my head from the minute I wake up to the minute I fall asleep - and all the hours in between too. No wonder the Girl is always scowling at me and saying "Did you hear what I just said?" and the Hubby frowns at his plate of culinary sustenance of an evening with an "I thought we were having Spag Bol, not Sarnies" type expression. I can't concentrate on the 'normal world' everyone else lives in. I have my own.
And I'm afraid I'm ex-directory. No one's getting through.