I had a clear and compelling fantasy of working in a luscious back garden, seated at a table with a pot of tea and a fat manuscript. And while it is true that the garden is lovely, the roses newly bloomed, the working reality is that I cannot sit outside during a thunder storm.
Retreating indoors is not tempting, given the fact that my house is waist-deep in stacks of books and I have to edge past towers of boxes to get to the computer. Oh, and musn’t forget the small detail of bored children.
Once again I am editing a book on the fly, scurrying from cafe to bookstore to pub, buying work time with 50p rounds of video games and promises of ice cream cones and fill-in-the-blank-whatever if they will just help and be patient, just for a few more minutes, please.
But I did it – without the benefit of childcare, relatives, friends, television, or any of the other boons of modern civilization. I’m walking out the door right now to put the final copyedited version of Mamaphonic in the mail.