(I used to write a monthly column for Absolutewrite called Errata. I have decided to do my blog posts in the same style - at least until I get bored. Any comments welcomed...)
Agh. Am having slump. Intended to go running. Should not be put off exercise by mere rain, but was - rain not, in fact, all that mere. Rain still pounding down 3 hours later and has probably washed away most of garden by now. At least if garden gone won't have to sweep up 3,000000 slimy leaves covering it last time I looked. Also intended to do at least 2 hours on rewrite. Instead, did utterly necessary and minimal housework, caught up on 4 months' worth of messages on F'book, then went floomph.
Am still floomphed. Was convinced could work on new novel and rewrite last one in tandem; after all, new novel going apace, words fountaining out like nobody's business (many of which no doubt complete rubbish in need of zapping at later date, but make wordcount look good). Was thinking had finally developed Self Discipline and Organisation; would no doubt finish first draft of new one and rewrite of old one in mere weeks, have whole new series planned by end of year and redecorate flat in meantime while possibly also saving world.
Hah. Forgot small matters like necessity of adequate performance at day job, and sleep. Also fact that am no longer Spring Chicken, indeed am barely even Summer Chicken - more 'Un Poulet d'un Certain Age' as French almost certainly don't put it. Have now floomphed twice in one week. Will Not Do. Something must give.
Cannot however bear to put either project to one side; fear new novel will languish, nay, flounder even, if neglected for too long. And have become addicted to ego-boost of nice plump wordcounts. But beloved rewrite novel also needing care and attention and besides, is fun. What to do, what to do? Only one possible solution. Must move from 'minimal cleaning' to 'emergency cleaning' i.e. only done when no clean clothes/forks left. After all, no-one ever published housework.