I did it!

It was a big ask, but I did it!

By the end of Thursday, I had 11,500 words to write in order to submit the second instalment of the ghostwriting gig before the end of Friday.

On Friday, it was the only thing I worked on, taking mini-breaks in between chapters and reading chapters out loud. I like to read my work out loud as it helps to spot inconsistencies, repetitions, clumsy or awkward sentences, and correct breathing breaks.

Saying that, we did nip out on Friday afternoon, first of all for an x-ray for the poet and then to do the shopping. We didn’t have a takeaway for tea. Instead we bought the ingredients and built our own. Well, the poet built it while I carried on working.

Aside from the mid-afternoon sojourn into the metropolis, I was glued to my desk. But even while I waited in the car in the hospital car park, I wrote more than 600 words on the notebook/switch. (We thought I wasn’t allowed in, but when the poet came back out he said there were lots of people in there who had someone with them.)

I took my meal breaks away from my desk, but the rest of the time I worked.

I worked until gone midnight, but at 00:55am on Saturday morning, I submitted Part 2. It was 55 minutes late, but a glorious moment all the same. However, by the time I surfaced from bed on Saturday, it had been accepted, approved for payment, and the next part of the contract had been sent over.

Because I’d worked so hard on Friday, I was shattered on Saturday, and so we took the entire weekend off. We took the dog for a walk in the rain, as there was hardly anyone out, on Saturday, and I made a trifle when we got back. On Sunday we nipped out for diesel, logs and coal. And bird food.

We also bought a snack from one of the local farm shops and when we got back to the house, we warmed the quiche through and ate it with half a Scotch egg each and a giant piece of cake.

Unfortunately, the cake, I believe, did for me (the butter icing was very sickly), and by teatime my hiatus hernia was letting itself be known. I had a rough night, and got up very, very late this morning. (It was after 11am, but not quite noon.)

That doesn’t leave a lot of time today to do a great deal of work. I have to pace myself much more. Writing 11,500 words a day, every day, is likely to kill me. It’s good to know that I can do it, if necessary. And it proves to me that I can do it, when necessary. But it’s not a good look.

This afternoon, then, it’s diary work and a glance at the final instalment for the ghostwriting. I’ve already checked Pakistan for articles. (There aren’t any.) There are no emails from Hong Kong.

When I have more time, I need to start casting around for new work, but in the meantime, I may have a doodle on my own work.