Monday, 20 January 2014

Good Riddance 2013!

I’ve packed away the Christmas decorations, kicked out relatives who overstayed their welcome, drank the very last bottle of red wine EVER, shut the sherry away for next year’s trifle and single-handedly consumed every morsel of fruit cake. The festive period is over! Good riddance 2013. Here’s to a successful New Year! 

My resolution, once more, is to remain positive, but it doesn’t get any easier. I need to believe in Karma. It’s about time I got some reward for all my hard work. I’ve been putting myself under a lot of pressure. I’m not as young as I used to be. I need to slow down. Perhaps I should give up. I’d like to get out more often. To be honest, I’ve been wondering what it would be like to be normal again....

Not one of those five-leaved clovers or black cats brought me any luck last year. And 2014 hasn’t really got off to a great start. The household budget for the foreseeable future is based on a ‘Robbing Peter to Pay Paul’ economic model, which I’d hoped would tide us by until a massive advance came my way. But who am I kidding? We all know that published writers don’t earn much anymore. Of course, there are the exceptions: JK Rowling, Joanne Rowling, Robert Galbraith et al. That's not the point. Money isn’t everything. I’ve not gone through all these trials to stop now.

I’m going to send off my submission and apply for a load of awards, but I’ll not get anywhere on an empty stomach. Times are hard, so I’ve used festive leftovers to make vegetable soup. Unfortunately, this festering concoction of sprouts, cabbage and squishy chunks of turnip resembles a bowl of thick phlegm. It doesn’t taste any better than it looks - not even with added seasoning and a sprinkling of thyme. Perhaps, my thrifty tactics have gone a step too far. Maybe, I won’t live to see another day. What if I die before my novel goes into print?

If you don’t hear from me again, you know what became of Lynne Blackwell (impoverished, unpublished writer). In the end, it wasn’t the arteries that became clogged, but her gullet. ‘Death by Soup’ – a great title for a biography, don’t you think?   


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