The blog post where I forget why I walked into the room…

It’s been one of those days. Although I’d be hard pushed to tell you exactly why. But then, it has also been one of those fortnights. And I’m tired. I am so tired tonight that I almost feel drunk with it. But I’m ploughing on regardless. Why? Couldn’t tell you. Perhaps bloody-mindedness is a habit.

I’m stuck. There has been almost zero wordage achieved in the last two weeks, although four things have been given a final polish and sent out with a kiss and a cake to make their way in the world. One of them has already found a home with Ether Books again, a distinctly uncheery little number that I nevertheless enjoyed writing. (And if you want to look at it with the requisite application, it’s called The Day He Left. And it’s free. So why not risk it?) But I’m sanguine that the dearth of words won’t continue for long. Another two stories on the go, and then when they’re done, I’m almost certain that I’ll be ready to return to the Second Draft Monster. Almost certain…

The Sunday before last – May 27th –  I was doing this (I’m in the green dress). I was incredibly nervous beforehand, to the point of (very) mild hysteria as I sat in my seat, waiting to go on. I’m not unused to public speaking, I even trod the boards briefly in my days at a bricks and mortar university, but reading my own words to an attentive audience was a thing that daunted me. I felt very exposed. However, I was given some exceptionally good advice the evening before, which helped no end. You know who you are, and a thousand times THANK YOU. And yes, you were right, and I bloody loved it. It was a fabulous evening, a very hot evening, and a most diverting evening…

And I think that will do for now. There’ll be – unusually – another post tomorrow evening…

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