Dancing On Tables, Nekkie.

You know how it is... when the Cat isn't around, the mice dance on the table.
Naked. With abandon. Loud music, drinks and spicy snacks. Congas and whistles.
There may be a furtive glance or so to check if the Boss is coming back early, but the party goes on.


Yeah, so my publisher is taking a break, and I could be one of the mice. I could pretend I'm not an author, don't have deadlines, don't have to promote "Distant Shore", just... do what I want. For a few days.
Seriously.
I bought knitting yarn. And a DVD set of "Criminal Minds".
I fluffed up my couch cushions, made a lot of coffee, and settled down for a couple of comfy days.
Sounds good, eh?


Only... instead of picking up the needles and the yarn I opened the MacBook - first mistake.
Then I checked my emails - second mistake. I had a look at Facebook - bloody stupid mistake.


Isn't it amazing how much you can come to rely on seeing someone every day, talking to them, working with them? How much a part of your life they have become, and how much you WANT them to be there?


So, what I did I do?


Instead of lazing around I opened the book file and stared at the last chapter I'd written.
Made some corrections. Added a few lines. Deleted a couple of sentences.
Typed, "Chapter 17". Idly. As if it meant nothing. Wiped the computer screen with my sleeve.
Wrote a first sentence for that chapter, which went:

The plates were huge, the arrangements fanciful, but the portions so small, they made Naomi want to weep.

And since that sentence seemed to sit well, I went on with:

Dolefully she stared at the minuscule steak and the three tiny potatoes before her, and wished she had not wanted to see the place where the New York publishing world hung out for lunch. 

The drinks, she had noticed, were not small. And they were carried past their table often, actually more often than food.

That sounded good enough, and about 3500 words later the chapter was finished.

As always, I sent it off to the publisher, knowing well no one would read it this weekend. And yet, it seemed like the right thing to do.

And since the writing was flowing I went to get some more coffee and then typed:

"Chapter 18"

Made that one begin with,

Olaf had sent people from the hotel to do the Christmas decorations, saying that she probably didn’t have anything at hand, and he knew how much she loved to have everything perfect and up in time.

Worked, too, and I had another 3K words down before the weekend was over.

Then Johanna Harness reminded me that I was scheduled for a guest blog on #amwriting for today. 

Oh, Ok. Forget about that one.

Write about the Blog Hop, she said, and my insides drew together like quince juice on an unsuspecting tongue.

But I did that, too. In fact, it was easier than I thought, and the Blog Hop not as terrible as I like to pretend.

So... after having spent the entire weekend writing (like a good little mousie!) I called my publisher today. It was good to hear her voice, good to laugh and chat. 

And it was even better to be able to say  – quite  coolly – oh, I'm fine. Nothing new here. Just the same old stuff. Writing. Promoting "Distant Shore". Blogging. Nah, I was fine without you. Yeah. Talk tomorrow! Take care. Bye Bye. Love you.

So... who wants some nekkie dancing on tables now? I'm free to do some partying!














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