Forgot to post last week. No excuse other than being busy working on CONSORTS.
I’ve developed an odd attitude to writing, though I suspect it’s quite normal once you start actually getting paid for doing something you’ve previously treated as a cross between a secret love and OCD. Now I feel guilty when I’m not doing it (because I need to do my very very best to produce the goods so I can be continue to be paid for doing the thing I love) and guilty when I am (as spending most of my waking hours in t’garret has trashed large swathes of the rest of my life.)
Beloved is being very understanding, though this weekend he insisted we actually Went Somewhere, even if this was to understanding friends who didn’t mind that I spent most of the time in their spare room, writing. I came down for meals. And very fine meals they were too.
I’ve also joined Facebook, which is not like me, being by degrees xenophobic, technophobic and cynical. I think I did this partly in a shameless attempt to get my name out there so people will buy my stuff (and yes, expect more on book signings etc here) and partly as a subconscious acknowledgement that I have traded my social life for a writing career. Which, oddly, I seem quite happy about.
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