It's me, Russell, you know the author of the Fekenham Tales.
I haven't the foggiest notion how it works for other writers so I think it best if I stick to what I know. Yes, yes, I can hear the cynics cry "you're not a real writer, you're just playing at it so who are you to go making statements like that?"
Actually I'm not; playing at it that is, I mean it. I mean it as much as I have meant anything and besides, who cares what cynics think?
I know, maybe you're right. Why comment at all if I really don't care?
To be honest I don't know.
As for who I am, I just told you, I'm Russell.
These are my reading glasses. I need two pairs of spectacles nowadays. One for reading and the others for distance. Funny thing is I didn't need any specs at all until comparatively recently but now I cannot see a bloody thing without them.
These are imperative for reading and writing. The car keys are there 'cos i couldn't be bothered hanging them up in the proper cupboard.
I use two PC's. This is my works one and the other is a steam driven device last seen on the set of Doctor Who. It isn't really steam driven but it is quite old. The disc drive no longer works and the screen blinks on and off at will. I punch the screen sometimes. Not because I like abusing fittings and furniture but because it seems to settle the machine down a bit. Long enough for me to write another chapter. I couldn't get rid of the old thing. We have a shared history you see.
Funny things chapters. Some long, some short. Personally I don't care how big or small they are as long as they push the story forward.
I tend to poke the keyboard rather than stroke it. My fingers don't fly like they should either but instead, two fingers doing an odd dance, pulverise the keys into submission. Well, it works for me.
Do any of you find crumbs lurking inbetween the keys? How do they get there? I swear i don't know. I don't eat biscuits or cakes when I am writing so it baffles me.
Each day I try and write at least 500 words. Sometimes I do more. Last Sunday I wrote more than 2,000. I shouldn't have written at all as the trees (conifers) at the back of the garden are in desperate need of cutting back. Maybe next weekend I'll have a go at them. For now though it is back to work and when I say work I mean sitting at a desk, hand poised over the keyboard, mind frantically searching for something good, funny or sad or perhaps all three to write about.
Ah well, I did say I meant it didn't I?