A write mess

It's fair to say that things have not been going altogether swimmingly of late. You may have surmised from the slightly hysterical limerick below that I managed to get into a car accident (less than a month after passing my test - I assume this is some kind of record), and while I fully accept all the platitudes about how the only important thing is that nobody was hurt, it nevertheless left me feeling pretty disillusioned about how whole driving business. Now, I say that nobody was injured, but my fellow prangee is claiming all sorts of sudden and debilitating illnesses, all of which will, I assume, be miraculously cured by a wad of notes from the insurance companies. All most irritating. As Radiohead would say, Karma police, arrest this man...

Writing hasn't been going well either, largely because I can't do it. Every day I sit eagerly before the PC with the sincere intention of rattling off a few hundred words or editing a chapter or two of Tyrone's novel, but even as Word lumbers to life, my attention begins to wander. Next thing I know I'm lazing around on Facebook fussing an imaginary dog or playing infuriatingly addictive word games, or I'm succumbing to my crippling spider solitaire habit, or buying useless tat off Ebay. Anything, it seems, other than do the one thing I yearn to do when I'm at work or otherwise unable to write. Then, before I know it, the evening has gone, and I'm left feeling thoroughly narked at myself and my lack of application. Sigh.

I have, however, managed to complete one writing-related task: I have booted my gorilla-y kids' novel off to try its luck with another agent, as the last bunch of guttersnipes I tried didn't even bother to reply - which I find intensely irritating, having enclosed the stipulated SAE. Fine, they don't have to like the story, but there's no need to be so goshdarned rude.

OK, I'll put an end to this aimless rant now. I know it's particularly long and self-pitying, but it has been a while.