By the time you have updated all your social media half of Monday morning is gone. Bang goes the plan to get ahead with work this week by writing from 6 til 8am before the kids get up. They could hear a mouse fart. In seconds I have jammy hands on me saying 'I've made you breakfast!' She's right. I feel like I AM breakfast.
Meanwhile I am trying to take the advice of one of the agents I approached last month who recommends that I re-title the book, and who felt that she wasn't 'caught up' in the writing. Godammit she will be after THIS re-write. I feel my gut bursting at the seams of my Hawaiian skirt as I metaphysically compress into a coiled spring of sheer writer-y dynamism. Kinda.
And now I must face facts that 27 minutes have expired and I have neither completed this weeks 100 landing pages, nor re-written the penultimate chapter, nor imparted a nugget of motherly wisdom to the 3 kids currently lolling on the sofa in the playroom. Still in their pjs. Or as T calls em 'My Ja-mamas'. Sigh.
