Monday looms like a giant blank piece of paper the size of Tasmania; though rectangular of course. Tasmania is more like a cute love heart shape and if a giant heart loomed that would probably be OK as opposed to the rigid rectangle which is obviously terrifying. Ahem. Anyway, it's from this day forth I will be writing full-time. You know, the day from which I have given away all my paying work and set out in my little writing ship to search for the land of Publication.
To give me confidence that I can get back into the world of my story I have got all the 'travel' gear I think I might need to get there- theme music, notes, pictures, lucky gonk ( if you know what this is, by jingo you're showing your age) etc. I plan to spread it all out on the floor, lie on it and make a book angel. No, not really of course, that would scratch the CD's but all that stuff I hope will trigger me off to writing. Then all I need is some peace and quiet. What are my chances? The chooks have been extra loud and whiny of late, the crested pigeons and native doves are cooing their tiny brains out and don't even get me started on the Channel billed cuckoo, whom I would throttle -if I could reach the bugger. But wisely it sits in the highest branches of the Anghophora calling out (all day long) " Oh Mummy currawong, feed me another 300 snacks for I am weak and fading and only 3 times your size." Hey mate, migrate already!
Well I'm going to do it anyway I guess, nervous tick or no. Wish me luck on all fronts!
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