I'm behind with everything and doing a juggling act trying to catch up. I've been having those sort of days where you feel you're working hard, but end up wondering where the result is.
I started looking at my novel-in-'progress pending', in an attempt to get back on with it, but I soon got distracted with copy-editing 'The Dark Threads'. Again! Yes, I thought the copy-editing was long finished, as it's been 'done' both by myself and a good copy-editor. Needless to say, my 'one last look' showed up a few more things that needed amending in my book. So I decided I'd better read it again carefully from beginning to end (I'll be able to say every word on all 350 pages off by heart soon!).
I enjoyed going to London to be interviewed for the Sunday Times. There was an initial panic when I found at the last minute my train had been cancelled, but, thanks to mobiles, I was able to rearrange the appointment to half-an-hour later and catch the next train.
I was prepared for the questions. But still ... 'How long did it take you to write the book?' This was one I'd been dreading as there's no straightforward answer. The writing of it has been 'on and off' over many years. I started writing it forty years (!) ago when I wrote on scraps of toilet paper sitting on the floor with my feet up to chest, knees against the pot, and holding the door shut with my back, in the hospital. OK, I suppose that was writing 'purely for therapy', which isn't the same as writing to be published. I never intended anyone else to see my writing then, but it did turn out to be a gathering together of the material for my book.
I asked myself, when did I decide I wanted to share my experiences and actually write a book about them? Would it be sufficiently interesting to others? Might it do some good (oh, sorry if that sounds 'up my backside', but it was one of my hopes)? As well as just a 'human interest story' I felt I had something to say that needed to be said, but I didn't want to come over all 'preachy' (which I don't think I have). There were a lot of questions I needed to ask myself about my motives for writing this kind of book, but, meanwhile, I just got on with it, feeling I simply had to write it. I mean, I've always been interested in writing, but whenever I wrote anything else, this kept intruding. Perhaps soon, at last, I'll be able to concentrate fully on trying to write other books on other subjects. I hope so. I don't want to be able to sing from only one sheet.
Anyway, I divert. On the whole I think my interview in London went well. Afterwards I wandered around until my bunions (old age creeping on) made me stand in the middle of a street, unable to go any further. I managed to hobble into the bookstore that was only a few yards away and I recovered over a cup of coffee, with my shoes off under the table. Well, I never thought when I began this blog that I'd even be bringing my boring old bunions into it! I don't go on like this in my book - honest I don't!