28000 words into the novel and people are beginning to get a bit cross with me. The director wants me to write an extra scene for the pantomime and I will, but he'll have to wait a few days. (To be honest, I'm toying with a few ideas before I settle on one and write it.) He said "If we can ever get Hilary to stop nanoing about, we might get some sense out of her." Bloomin' cheek!
Better than what my Mother said though. She and I met up with my Uncle, whom I haven't seen for a while. Years, in fact. He asked what I did for a living. Before I could say anything, Mum jumped in with "Oh she doesn't do anything. She just sits at her computer all day and writes."
I smiled sweetly and said "I'm a writer." He asked what I write.
"Oh" said Mum, "she writes little plays for her Church. They perform them and raise money."
I smiled through gritted teeth. "I've had a couple of plays published in America," I told him, "and yes, I've also written some for the group attached to my Church."
"Yes," said Mum. "They'd be stumped if she got a proper job."
I drank my mineral water and wished it was gin.
Excuse me a moment.
I feel better now.
I am pleased with the novel though. It falls into the category of women's lit. Called Cast Offs, it tells of mentally unstable Diane, who has lost custody of her daughter Ginny. She takes Ginny and runs away to France, where she meets holiday maker Jo. Jo reminds Diane of her ex husband's new wife. When Jo starts a holiday romance, reality and fantasy start to blur and Diane decides she must save men from the home wrecking man eater that is this woman....
Ah well, back to it.