I've written 15,000 words this week - but it looks like very few of them were written on this blog. Oh well. But it's good new - it means the new novel is coming on pretty well.
It also means I've been completely ignoring my emails, so if you've been trying to get in touch with me - sorry. I'll write a few more chapters of Jimmy Coates: Survival, then strap myself to my desk and see what's cropped up in my inbox.
It means I've been cooking a lot (good break from writing, plus you get something to eat at the end of it!). I've been putting anchovies on everything. And I mean EVERYTHING. Try it. Sometimes it works.
It means I've hardly left the house for a week. Anybody still out there? Is it Winter yet?
It means there's a pile of unopened post by my desk.
It means I have strange dreams about explosions, chases and assassinations. They all go into the books eventually.
It means that it seven days I've listened to almost the entire recorded works of Astor Piazzolla. And Oscar Peterson. And Michel Petrucciani.
It means I've been going to bed around 3am most nights.
It means I will soon have finished my fifth novel.