Netflix-informed parenting, Prince Philip and my first draft.

I’m writing this a bit late. My husband and I stayed up to collect my son from a cold-sounding meet in his mate’s garden. He wanted to cycle back at one in the morning. “There aren’t any roads, Mother, it’s mostly just park.” We’ve just watched Gracepoint, so he was getting picked up.

It was worth it. He came back buzzing (talking in whole words rather than monosyllables). The children I know have coped with lockdown admirably, but it’s taken its toll on their lives.

While we waited, we watched TV. Prince Philip died yesterday and programming had been suspended for tributes. He was 99, nobody wants to go on forever, but I think most of us are very sad for our Queen. It’s the end of 73 years of an incredible marriage that was all about serving other people.

I’m inching through the first draft of my novel. Lots of writers love this bit where they’re creating something from scratch. I like the revision and editing better, when there’s something to knock into shape. 35k down. Aiming for another 15 before I finish. That’s very short for my kind of book, but I’m focussing on the bones of character and story first. That means scenes that start in the middle of nowhere and a lot of dialogue without anything else around it. The word count will hopefully expand as I flesh these things out.

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