Goddamn my writerly Achille’s heels

What do you do when you’ve finished writing something like a novel, eh? Well, I mean, after the obvious bit where you get pissed on whisky and give your mum a lap dance. … what… … is that just me…? Well, whatever, we’ve all got our own parties to get on down to. (I saw you with that fluorescent orangutan. Don’t tell me you didn’t. Facebook says you did.) Anyway. After the party, what happens then? Well, the streamers get cleaned up, the balloons deflate and whither like used condoms in the corners of the room, and the left over…

Where is all the writerly wisdom?

Well, Easter’s been a darn fine time. There’s been chocolate, there’s been tea cakes, and the cat has been in a spectacularly epic bad mood which culminated in savaging the mother in law (but at least it didn’t require a trip to the Emergency Room… let’s not talk about the last time that happened…) And, what’s more, there’s been extra days off from the daily grind, like the weekend just decided that enough was finally enough and went on a bender with Friday and Monday, only to be discovered a few days later handcuffed to a lamppost and talking to…