Oh it’s such a beautiful day. So why am I sitting on the bed, laptop in front of me, fingers poised and frozen above the keyboard? Not literally of course – I’m typing this, which is much more fun than Starting A Book. How do real writers do this? I’ve had this idea fermenting for months now, made notes, wrote a few scripts in between, shouted at the children, examined my split ends and now I can’t put it off any more. I have to get started. The words have to come out of my head *she says pretentiously* It’s like editorial laxatives.
*Long Pause while I stare at the screen and it mocks me back*
Husband has just walked in and starts ironing his shirt. “Do you know this ironing board is older than either of our children?” I consider this. “Yes and it’s a bloody sight more useful too.” Knowing our luck, The Boy will still be sitting in his room among an ever growing pile of crusty pants and sticky crockery when he’s 50.
Ok. I’ve got the title.
Don’t like the title.
Anyone got any tips?