I am still here!

explosion

Well, it’s been an interesting couple of months in the Beecroft household, starting in April when my aged father decided he could not cope with living alone hundreds of miles away from the rest of the family any more. Since then it’s been a full soap-opera worth of just about every ridiculous plot thread you can think of other than the surprise baby. But he is now settled in a new home, and the pressure has reduced to the point that this week I started to write again. I can’t tell you what a relief that is.

So here I am, claiming that I’m still alive, surviving and turning my thoughts back towards my writing. So much to do that I’ve let lapse! I must update my website. I must resubmit The Glass Floor to as many publishers as I can think of. I must learn to use CreateSpace to make a print version of The Witch’s Boy with the new cover, because I’m not satisfied with the quality of the Lulu books. (The cover tends to peel in no time flat.)

And I must stick with my new regime of writing between 8.30 – 12.00 every day. Carefully calculated so that I can take advantage of the time my teenagers are in bed on their summer holidays to write during what always used to be an unproductive time of year. Then I can do mum things, and visit my Dad, in the afternoons.

I hate changes of routine, but I hate much more not having a routine at all. So it’s very good indeed to feel the beginnings of a manageable working routine rise out of the ashes of my former life.

I don’t want to jinx it, but I feel it’s time to say with a certain sense of surprise that I am still here. Fatter, tenser and angrier than before, but writing again, which is the main thing.

 


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