Tired now

I did get last night's story finished on time, tho' I was still working on it when shewhomust and durham_rambler turned up to conduct me to the gig.

Which was pretty average triumphant, if you asked me. We've been doing these twice a year for seven years or so, and we still get sixty, seventy people turning up, a mix of old friends and new faces.

This morning I did the sums, and realised I'd written ~10K this week. Which is actually the kind of rate I need to maintain for the rest of this year if I'm to meet my novel deadlines; but I haven't been there for a while, I'm not fit for it, and today I am just knackered. In my legs, mostly. Which no, that makes no sense to me either, but there it is.

So today I am reading, mostly. My own work, mostly - noodling gently with the aspidochelone, and refreshing my memory in re House of Bells, and looking again at something else I started a while ago and set aside - so it does sort of count as work, but not wordcount.*

Also I get to drink wine and throw food in a hot pan. Spaghetti tonight, with prawns & chilli & tomatoes & mushrooms & rocket & parmesan & garlic. That'll do me.


*Just as well, too. When I got to the Lit & Phil, they wouldn't let me downstairs to the Silence Room, on account of health & safety; someone was working on the windows above the stairs. I'm all for stopping the rain getting in, but even so. Banned from the Silence Room! Lucky I didn't want to write, it was.