First written: June 12, 2009
Apparently, my postings on this site are not the
thing at all. Bloggers don't want to read about snakes, deviant
churches and badgers rising from the dead, I've been told. They
want to know about me. What I do with my day? How I spend my
time.
Trust me, you don't.
There is absolutely nothing in this world less interesting than
the life of the average writer. I'm not talking about the
mega-stars now, who jet around the world on promotional tours and
who probably have someone else to write their books. I'm talking
about 99% of the world's writing population. Those who actually
write.
My friend Adrian (former detective with London's Metropolitan
police and my special adviser on all things police related) thinks
I should make it up. He has a point. Inventing exciting lives seems
to be what I do best, so why not invent my own.
There's a knock at the back door. I peer from the window. Rain
drops are shining on the tight black curls of the man below me. His
sinewy frame is taught with expectation. I take a deep breath and
go downstairs …
Like I could ever keep that nonsense up. He's come to mow the
lawn, of course. It's Mark, the gardener, the dog loves
him.
Well, don't say you weren't warned, here is my typical
day.
6.30am approx: Dog pokes wet and slimy nose under the sheets.
Time to get up. Spend next hour and a half bullying child into
eating, dressing, abluting and climbing into the car that takes him
to school.
8.00am: Set off with dog for walk. Lose dog. Spend hour looking
for dog. Threaten dog with Blue Cross Dogs Home.
9.00am: Stare at computer screen and move fingers rapidly up and
down.
12 noon: Wander round house thinking really must load
dishwasher, unload washing machine, remove maggots from bottom of
fridge.
1.00pm: Read over morning's work. Despair.
3.00pm: Collect son from school. Feed, wash and exercise son.
Put son to bed.
8.00pm: Scrape maggots off remaining contents of fridge and
serve up for dinner.
9.00pm: Stare at TV screen.
10.00pm: Bed.
Of course I've also, in those hours, clambered
through abandoned chalk mines, gone head to head with the world's
most venomous snake and fallen deeply in love for the first time in
my life. I've learned that the south west of England is rich in
underground oil reserves. I've also received an e mail from a woman
on the other side of the world, who I will never meet, but who
wanted me to know that she really, really enjoyed reading my book
and that I must not, under any circumstances, stop writing.
She needn't worry. I wouldn't change my life for
anything.