my life is one very long sentence with too many clauses.

I am word blind. It’s like being snow blind inside a dictionary. I’d like to start having my own dreams again but until next Friday, Jack, Sadie, Curtis, Elizabeth and the woolly-pig are here to stay (though I don’t have woolly-pig dreams – I don’t know what they dream about, knitted grass? embroidered skies? pig-nuts?)

It’s great – Mr R has sold now to France, Germany, Italy and Spain – all very exciting. Next week is the London Book Fair and Sceptre (and the lovely Alice) will be trying to sell more foreign rights. I’m really looking forward to meeting my French editor and German publisher. It does mean, however, that I can’t work on Monday all day. It’s going to be a busy weekend. I’m in London at the moment for more work stuff. It’s really not my favourite place to write. I miss my summerhouse!

the fiction...

the fiction...

the reality.

the reality.

Please note the empty coffee cups beside me in the photograph. I’m also wearing my giant headphones to try and block out the f**** builders who have been demolishing the flat next door for a year and a half.


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Filed under from summerhouse to summer read

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