My posts on Friday and Saturday came courtesy of Blogger scheduling. What was really happening was that the children and I were off, straight from school, to Singapore for Daughter’s gymnastic competition. Husband has been away for almost a week - partly on a corporate jolly (Thailand Open) and partly on a personally jolly (to take his Padi Advanced Scuba diving course.)
Today, we are back to normal. Children are in school and I am back at work on the novel: next stop 50,000. I have a quiet week and I am a bit behind so my head is down, although I have just put the wordmeter up by a further thousand. Ya hoo.
The apartment is strewn with clothes from the mountains of washing that comes from travelling. Clothes are hanging up to dry in every available space. It’s like having lots of very quiet people hanging around, waiting for a party to start. Husband’s wet suit is hanging up in the bath room, and every time I go in there, I think the Milk Tray man has broken in to the apartment. I consider wrestling the chocolate from him before giving him a good shove off the balcony and then I realise it’s just the suit.
I am struggling a bit with Owen Meany. It’s beautiful and the characterisation is wonderful … but I’m waiting for something to grip me and make me desperate to read on. I reckon I’m not quite a third of the way through. I take it you all think I should persevere?
Showing posts with label A Prayer for Owen Meany. Show all posts
Showing posts with label A Prayer for Owen Meany. Show all posts
Monday, March 09, 2009
Monday, March 02, 2009
Bits and Bobs
I am smug today because my office and my desk are tidy.
Sorry I should have warned you, shouldn’t I? I should’ve said ‘turn away now if you don’t want to see a flagrant declaration of smugness.’ Sorry about that.
Just in case I was getting above myself, though, I’ve been whacked back down to earth with the news that the TLC writing holiday isn’t going ahead. I was stupidly sad back in Sept/Oct and out of that misery came the mentoring which is going well… This time I am disappointed but, with the mentoring in place, I’m not foolishly miserable as I might be winging a trip to the UK instead… last two weeks in April … watch this space.)
Husband has been very odd these last few days… If you remember, he issued a request, a while ago, that I not buy any more books until I had inflicted a major dent in my TBR pile. He keeps threatening to come here to my comments and tell you all how many books there are on my pile. He even suggested he might not count them – which would take a while – but he’d invent a silly number to the power of ten, or something. Then at the weekend, he said ‘I’ll make you a deal. I’ll stop nagging about the TBR pile if you read ‘A Prayer for Owen Meany’ next.
Huh?
That’s so easy. I’ll read it, then. He could’ve said ‘Running With Scissors’ in which case I’d have to have pretended to read it and keep on hiding the books I’d bought since I promised not to buy any more, just in case he finds me out.
Then he said ‘I tell you what, our copy is in England; I’ll even buy it for you.’
What is going on?
Sorry I should have warned you, shouldn’t I? I should’ve said ‘turn away now if you don’t want to see a flagrant declaration of smugness.’ Sorry about that.
Just in case I was getting above myself, though, I’ve been whacked back down to earth with the news that the TLC writing holiday isn’t going ahead. I was stupidly sad back in Sept/Oct and out of that misery came the mentoring which is going well… This time I am disappointed but, with the mentoring in place, I’m not foolishly miserable as I might be winging a trip to the UK instead… last two weeks in April … watch this space.)
Husband has been very odd these last few days… If you remember, he issued a request, a while ago, that I not buy any more books until I had inflicted a major dent in my TBR pile. He keeps threatening to come here to my comments and tell you all how many books there are on my pile. He even suggested he might not count them – which would take a while – but he’d invent a silly number to the power of ten, or something. Then at the weekend, he said ‘I’ll make you a deal. I’ll stop nagging about the TBR pile if you read ‘A Prayer for Owen Meany’ next.
Huh?
That’s so easy. I’ll read it, then. He could’ve said ‘Running With Scissors’ in which case I’d have to have pretended to read it and keep on hiding the books I’d bought since I promised not to buy any more, just in case he finds me out.
Then he said ‘I tell you what, our copy is in England; I’ll even buy it for you.’
What is going on?
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