You Can’t Get Scurvy if You Drink This Much Juice

I hate being interrupted when I’m writing. And okay, I’m writing all the time at the moment. And I do enjoy spending time with my friends. But I was halfway through punching someone when I was dragged away from my laptop last night so I was stuck in this weird sort of limbo place where I kept muttering to myself: It’s okay. Tomorrow will happen! Tomorrow I am going to hit people in the face! And shoot them! And possibly other things! It will be awesome!

Certain people may have edged away from me at that point, and double-checked in careful tones if they’d done something to annoy me. Honestly, do I look like someone who would punch you? Well, maybe if you’re trying to take my laptop away from me…

This is totally normal behaviour. For a writer. Or, you know, anybody who’s dangerously obsessed with their work.

I am now looking at that sentence and considering the inclusion of the word ‘dangerously’ and wondering if my subconscious mind is trying to tell me something.

I think I’m lucky most of the people in my life want to read my books so when they say, Stop working I can counter with, Don’t you want me to finish it so you can read it? Sadly this only works about fifty percent of the time. The rest of the time they start muttering about scurvy and dying before I finish. They are very melodramatic. Seriously. I mean, how hard is it to hold your breath for three months?