Sunday, September 26, 2004

My Flat, Cresta

Sunday, September 26, 2004

Service: * * * 1/2
Food: * * * *
Ambience: * * * * *
Babe Count: N/A

Ayeeeeeee! I'm torn! Should I be updating my website? Or should I be completing the second draft of my novel? Website? Novel? Website? Novel.

Right. I'm a writer! So... PROCRASTINATION RULES!!!!!!!! Yeah!!!!

Okay then. So... should I be updating my website? Or tidying my bedroom? Website? Tidying?

Yeah. This could go on allllll night. And frequently does.

Lemme tell you a bit about my novel. I last worked on it in at the end of March 2001. Three years ago. At that point, I'd reached 10 000 words of the second draft rewrite. And then hit a wall and ran out of steam. I was awarded a fairly huge grant by the National Arts Council in 2000 or 1999 -- I don't recall -- to finish the damned thing. And I've been feeling guilty ever since that I haven't.

Just a picture of a babe I came across on the web. Thought she'd make a good portrait subject. Drawing is a very effective procrastination tool if you're a novelist.So now, with the Jacana/European Union novel competition looming, I figure, hey, why don't I blow the dust off the old draft, and wield the old typewriter-calloused fingers, and whip out a new draft.

So, yesterday morning I started playing writer writer. I put my cd player on random repeat mode, and got myself into a frenzy. And nope... I didn't procrastinate. Not much. Maybe five or six masturbation sessions at the MOST! All right. Maybe seven. And a bit of catching up on email. And three backgammon matches against my Jellyfish software.

The good news is that I'm now 31 499 words into the new draft. That puts me just under halfway through!!! I reckon I've got about 12 to 24 hours more work on the thing, and it'll be in shape to send to the competition. I'm working fiendishly fast, and, sitting here, I'm truly mystified as to why it's taken me this long to do something SO basic.

The book's called TATTOOS ARE FOREVER, and it's about a twelve year old orphan who's in love with his foster sister and at war with his foster mother.

Can't say more right now. That's because my supper's waiting. Spar roasted chicken, cold, served with freshly microwaved sweetcorn, steaming on the cob. Served with a smile.

Right. Time to carry on working on the novel. Let's see. I need some Vaseline and tissues.

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