*Please note that pics of the actual event were not taken as tension and anxiety was so high!*
Walk to beach with dogs.
Dog finds transparent orange ball like this.
Dog can’t quite get mouth round it and pushes it to waterline.
Alex Martin, author of the just released, beautiful story Daffodils (as well as the best seller The Twisted Vine) is one of the bonuses of my writing life. We connected in one of our online writing groups and found we had many interests in common. Just before Easter we decided to get together virtually (because Alex lives in the UK and I’m in Australia) over a cup of tea, and discuss our commonality. This was the wonderful result. I hasten to add it was quite a few cups and even more biscotti whilst we chatted.
Or should that be a writer’s average day? Ah, take it anyway you like, it doesn’t matter!
But a week or so ago, I was surfing the net and remember glancing at a post that relayed the average glamorous writer’s day and then listed their own by comparison. Can’t find where I read it (when do you ever manage to re-locate something you read some time ago unless you immediately bookmark it?) and as I raced around the sheepyards this week, I wondered about my own average day.