Giddy up!

Never one to ignore an old chestnut, I have followed that rule about what to do when you fall off a horse (no, not cry). The kids' novel has once more ventured out into the world, and perhaps it will fare better now that is a more seasoned traveller. I picture it loitering in a sorting office somewhere between Manchester and London, eyeing the other letters with a steely gaze and drawling, 'yeah, I travel down here all the time,' as it takes a nonchalant drag of its fag. I'm only sorry I can't claim air miles for it; I'd be eligible for a flight to Mars by the end of the year.

Other than using work's franking machine for nefarious purposes (shh! I'll give you chocolate if you promise not to tell my boss), I have been most diligently NOT writing a short story. The characters are all milling around my head; I know what will happen to them (most of them die - a rare occurrence in my work *splutter*), but something is refusing to click. Of course, it doesn't help that I keep finding any excuse to avoid going anywhere near it because I am having trouble writing it. A most vicious and prickly circle.

Oh, and just one other thing: I have been practising my Nelson Muntz laugh. One day, if an agent or publisher should suffer a serious lapse in concentration and take me on, I intend to telephone everyone to turn me down (which will take a very, very long time) and HAW-HAW! at them before hanging up. Yes it's childish and puerile, but I'll danged well enjoy it.