My ten-year old’s used all my useful single sheets, my chairs for the dining room and a broom, but this is a pretty good blanket fort. I made everyone stand up for dinner last night.
Someday, I’m going to write a piece about den architecture. Meanwhile, my article about Beales’ Christmas marketing campaigns is in December’s Dorset Life. (Father Christmas flew over their Bournemouth store by plane in 1913. Top that Macy’s!)
And I write about how the church can include children with special needs and their parents in the new Premier Youth and Children’s Work (actual link). I am very grateful to the three friends who allowed me to invade their lives and tell their stories.
I have no idea whether my life is going well or not at the moment. Six weeks ago, I had little time to eat. But now my next official deadline is May. Though anyone who looked at the pile of washing on my sofa, would assume I’m still desperately busy:
Or the washing piled up in the sink:
Am I wasting time when I should be pitching more article ideas? Or am I doing the sensible thing- not panicking – getting the house under control after everyone was sick, catching up with abandoned friends before they shop for new ones and drafting a novel while my brain’s not cluttered with “proper work.”
I am writing my novel. Working on a story no one except your sister cares you write, is not proper work. National Novel Writing Month has been immensely helpful however, declaring November the month to write for the sake of being creative, because it’s a good thing to do. Now I have a work-in-progress.
And my attic is down six or seven bags of children’s clothes. My Christmas cake is made. Yes, quiet has been good. (Note to editors: busy is nice too!)
Look my cake (I did have help- thanks Beth!)