I’m definitely feeling a bit sick today. After lunch I found Daughter doubled over the dining room table in tummy agony. At first I thought I might have poisoned us both with some geriatric feta cheese I put in our lentil leftover salad. Me, I just felt nauseous. When I thought about the combination of elderly ingredients I used in the lunch, they could all have been responsible. I couldn’t put a day on the leftover rice but it was easily last week; I had to reject a fair proportion of wrinkled squashy tomatoes before finding some firm enough to actually cut rather than press. The coriander leaves were crying out for chlorophyll and so wilted not even fresh cold water would revive them.
Anyway I still might have poisoned Daughter, but when I returned to my desk, I remembered why I felt sick. Encouraged by your comments to listen to my intuition I have made a terrifying decision. I have to write a parallel story to my present novel’s story. OMG.
I have to write a new X0,000 words when I thought I had finished the writing new words bit.
I am going to do what I said I wouldn’t ever do. (The parallel story is not set in the present day... *gulp* historical periods *hyperventilate...)
I am trying to remind myself that I have to write the best book possible. It’s not about finishing the book to some sort of false deadline.
This feels right; terrifying but right. It complements what my feelings are about the themes in the book. I am excited (as well as sick with nerves)
PS Daughter's tummy ache has gone. She is made of tough stuff. Me? I'm still feeling sick.
