Saturday November 26, 13.40. I am sitting in our kitchen/living room listening to the hum of the washing machine and the wind outside. The enormous evergreen in the garden next door waves frantically at me and I wonder how much damage it would do if the wind was strong enough to knock it down – it’s as tall as this three story tenement building.
I should not be thinking about the tree, of course. I should be catching up on my NaNoWriMo story, which sits at 35, 962 words after a week of work, hanging around an industrial estate in Dundee, applications for funding and writing jobs, and last night an unexpected trip to everyone’s favourite grotty rock club in the cowgate. As I sat in this very same seat at 4am, scarfing down chunion crisps from the garage, my book was the last thing on my mind.
Time to Write or Die.