Last week I did an interview with an online parenting magazine.
Well, Caitlin Moran had asked me to do a piece for the Sunday Times but a gal can have too much exposure. I suggested she contact Lady Ga Ga.
Anyways, I was answering the lovely Sue's questions on how I fit writing around my children - actually, I'm VERY careful about this one after a newspaper printed an article about me entitled 'Solicitor and Supermum.' A breach of trade description if ever there was one - when she asked if I might like to do a diary for them. A week-in-the-life of a writer.
Of course I agreed. It sounded easy and a great idea. Everyone always wants to know how we write and I hoover up the details of any author's schedule as if knowing that Jodi Picoult gets up at five will spur me to the same. For those interested, she does, and it doesn't.
Then I actually thought about it. And my heart sank. A week in the life of JK Rowling might be a whirlwind of book signings and speeches. A week in the life of Helen Black. Not so much.
So I thought I'd do a practise run. Maybe I'd suprise myself. So here it is. My week.
Monday - I spend two hours writing a scene in my sub plot. Very pleased. By the time I have taken a shower I know it's complete rubbish. I delete the scene.
Tuesday - My agent calls. He makes polite conversation skirting around the real issue which is when I will sub my WIP. I fudge. I spend the rest of the day writing in ferocious panic. Most of it is utter crap.
Wednesday - An email from my new editor. Can I send the synopsis of book five. She's lost her copy and wants to take it to a publisher in the States. I dig it out. It's rubbish. No one will ever want to read such a daft piece of tripe. I spend the rest of the day panicking about book five.
Thursday - I realise I must stop panicking about book five and write book four. I spend the day panicking about not having written anything the previous day.
Friday - I have the idea to set my next scene in a crack house. I'm pants at settings and this will be incredibly visual. I google 'crack house' and spend the next four hours weeping over videos of lives runined by drugs on youtube.
Saturday - the kids comandeer my laptop. They have exams so I daren't argue for fear of being a Bad Mother.
Sunday - the sun shines.
So there it is. In all it's boring glory. Suffice it to say, there is a very good reason why I do not blog alone.
Well, Caitlin Moran had asked me to do a piece for the Sunday Times but a gal can have too much exposure. I suggested she contact Lady Ga Ga.
Anyways, I was answering the lovely Sue's questions on how I fit writing around my children - actually, I'm VERY careful about this one after a newspaper printed an article about me entitled 'Solicitor and Supermum.' A breach of trade description if ever there was one - when she asked if I might like to do a diary for them. A week-in-the-life of a writer.
Of course I agreed. It sounded easy and a great idea. Everyone always wants to know how we write and I hoover up the details of any author's schedule as if knowing that Jodi Picoult gets up at five will spur me to the same. For those interested, she does, and it doesn't.
Then I actually thought about it. And my heart sank. A week in the life of JK Rowling might be a whirlwind of book signings and speeches. A week in the life of Helen Black. Not so much.
So I thought I'd do a practise run. Maybe I'd suprise myself. So here it is. My week.
Monday - I spend two hours writing a scene in my sub plot. Very pleased. By the time I have taken a shower I know it's complete rubbish. I delete the scene.
Tuesday - My agent calls. He makes polite conversation skirting around the real issue which is when I will sub my WIP. I fudge. I spend the rest of the day writing in ferocious panic. Most of it is utter crap.
Wednesday - An email from my new editor. Can I send the synopsis of book five. She's lost her copy and wants to take it to a publisher in the States. I dig it out. It's rubbish. No one will ever want to read such a daft piece of tripe. I spend the rest of the day panicking about book five.
Thursday - I realise I must stop panicking about book five and write book four. I spend the day panicking about not having written anything the previous day.
Friday - I have the idea to set my next scene in a crack house. I'm pants at settings and this will be incredibly visual. I google 'crack house' and spend the next four hours weeping over videos of lives runined by drugs on youtube.
Saturday - the kids comandeer my laptop. They have exams so I daren't argue for fear of being a Bad Mother.
Sunday - the sun shines.
So there it is. In all it's boring glory. Suffice it to say, there is a very good reason why I do not blog alone.
