about writing and life and God

Second draft, second day

I counted words. I counted chapters. I counted days and worked out how much I really needed to do each day to meet my deadline. Then the builders arrived.

Before 7.30 a.m.

I rose, splashed water on my face, dressed, and went downstairs to greet them and let them into the back garden. But not before watching spellbound as a beautiful little digger was driven off a low-loader. Time to reveal one of my secrets: I simply lurve diggers and tractors and cranes and other such beautiful objects. I nearly got to drive a tank once… But that’s another story.

Anyhow, one glance at that digger and I was happy for my carefully-planned writing morning to be disrupted.

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Only it wasn’t.

The men got to work digging up my garden,

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burying these clever plastic boxes to create a soak-away for rain-water

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covered it all up again, and went home.

All without disturbing me.

So I revised chapter three, read chapter four and tinkered with it before deciding it needs a complete rewrite. My villainess needs to be rewritten back to what she was in the very earliest draft. (Why can’t I find it? argh!) And I could do with a bit more information about the early postal system… And how strict were Victorian fathers really?

But afternoons are for admin and promoting the previous book… and the second set of builders who have come to tinker with my conservatory…

A writer’s life!

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