So the new series of Made in Boring – the TENTH – has kicked off but I’ve decided I can’t face blogging it this time. Sorry. It’s just that life’s too short, basically, and I’d rather eat my own feet than sit through an hour of it every Monday night.
In part, it’s also because I’m being hermit-like at the moment and spending hours and hours sitting at my kitchen table, eating chocolate and drinking tea while trying to write a book.
I read about a man who was awarded a literary prize the other day for his debut novel, which was a surprise to his family and friends because they didn’t know he was writing anything. ‘I just didn’t want to be that wanker who goes round and tells everyone they’re writing a book,’ he said, accepting the award.
The thing is, though, that I am excellent at distracting myself. Eg. I have genuinely just spent 10 minutes watching a You Tube tutorial on how to put in fiddly little gold hoop earrings instead of writing. Any second now, I will decide I should put a wash on. Or unload the dishwasher. Or tidy my room. Or make my 46th cup of tea. Maybe have a bath. Read the papers. File my nails. Etc etc. So, unlike the smug git who won a prize for his first ever book, I need to tell people I’m writing something in order that I GET ON AND ACTUALLY WRITE THE THING.
The bible, I reckon, was probably written faster than my ‘novel’. Although mine possibly has a few more rude bits.
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