Words Count

Write 250 words every day and finish a novel in a year? I’d like to know where I am supposed to find time to write those every day – a dropped lump of spare hours in the gutter perhaps? Under the ornamental gourd smothering my runner beans? In the bottom of my handbag amongst the unspent coppers and sticky conference-facility mint?

It’s not just the time spent crafting the words, it’s the age it takes for my laptop to load. There’s the emails and Daily Horoscope to check, the headlines to scan, the updates and Friend Requests from someone you once sat next to in a year end exam to ignore, Spider Solitaire to play.

I do sometimes think of becoming one of those people that gets up at the crack of dawn, goes for a five-mile run, has a bowl of Special K whilst holding perfect yoga poses, then sits down and knocks off a chapter or two before work. You know the types. What do they call them? Anal-retentive freaks of nature. All that fibre must dry up any remaining joy and spontantiety and everyone knows running jiggers your knees.

Then there’s the evenings. If I’m not in the gym, ploughing up and down the pool, which I’m invariably not, there’s the pots to wash, the cat to feed, Sudoku to complete, phone calls to be made, repeats to be watched, nails to paint, books to read.

If I had the time I would write 250 words. I haven’t.