The end of the holidays
Word count: 86,796
So that was Christmas… and what have I done? Another year over, and a new one just begun… (apologies for the misquote. This is one of the strange habits that writers develop, because to use a lyric from John Lennon in a novel would probably swallow up the average five figure advance in one go… misquoting is the only way round it).
I can now announce my official total for the Christmas writing marathon:
Now I was actually slightly disappointed in this figure, as last year I managed 33,900 over the festive season. The shortfall this year could be blamed on a number of things, including having toothache, and having Broadband. But I suppose it ain’t bad going, given that if I could maintain that pace, I could finish a novel in eight weeks.
I can’t, of course, maintain that pace as tomorrow I have work to go to, but my aim of finishing the first draft by Feb remains in place. If I was feeling mathematical I could work out a daily rate for that, given that I estimate the book will be 120,000 long. Oh go on then. If I work for the next 30 days, I need to write 1106.8 words per day. Hmmm. The 0.8 will be interesting.
In other news, am imposing a liquid diet on myself of soup and water (Oh, and some leftover port) as a result of losing the filling from root canal. As my next dental appointment isn’t till the 15th I might lose loads of weight! Am also looking forward to receipt of the Bodydoctor book from amazon. The enthusiasm will of course last about 10 minutes until I admit to myself that I actually have to do more than buy the bloody book to lose a stone and 5 inches from my waist in a month.
On the exercise front, today have been out with boyf for some ‘his and hers’ pedometer action. 7000 steps though it felt like much further. Can’t believe you’re meant to do 10,000 a day.
Finally I had the strangest dream overnight about the first guy I ever fell in love with, back in ‘86 when I was doing my A levels (it ended in a typically teenage disaster). In the dream we all met up, him, his wife, his parents (his dad was no longer a carpenter but the ancestral owner of a rather fancy stately home) and had a lovely chat over tea. The weirdest thing was how positive it made me feel when I woke up, really full of the joys of spring. Perhaps it’s remembering being a teenager, and realising how even the things that mattered badly in those days, now give you a strange nostalgic glow.
And if you happen to be reading, ATF, (not likely, I realise) I’ll never forget your Mini Cooper.