This has been a great week for exciting news that's too up in the air for me to talk about just yet. So here instead is a quick post about how, two weeks into the new novel, I'm still on target for meeting my arbitrary and self-imposed deadline.
Which might not sound like too big a deal, but actually it would have been really easy to fall behind in this second week. The goal - as with every week between now and the end of August - was three thousand words, which I know I can manage easily enough so long as things are reasonably quiet and hassle-free. Unfortunately, the last seven days have been anything but, and travelling to sunny Hull for the weekend nearly lost me all of Friday night and most of today.
Luckily, I managed to get the better part of a thousand words down over the course of the two train journeys, an achievement I reckon should win me a couple of Booker prizes in itself. I mean, you try to get a thousand words written when the train company's sold fifteen times as many tickets as there are seats and you and nine strangers are crammed into the toilet because it's the only place left to stand. Fortunately, some kind lady let me rest my laptop on their offspring's head, said child was paralysed by fear of the crowd threatening to crush him at any moment and the lunatic balancing a laptop on his mop top, I managed to balance myself by jamming a foot into the loo - and from there it was fairly easy going.
Okay, I exaggerate. Truth be told, the worst I had to contend with was an unexpected delay or two and an insane woman who spent most of the return journey slagging me off to her partner because I accidentally bumped her trying to get out of someone else's way in a horribly cramped carriage. Heck, I even got a table both ways.
Still, I'm feeling quite proud of myself. If I can keep up the requisite wordage over a busy week and a busier weekend then odds are good for me hitting my deadline. At least, that's what I'm going to keep telling myself.