Despite my harried rantings last year about my writing life being over before it started due to mix ups with daycare days, all has been sorted, and I humbly beg your forgiveness.
And so I find myself today without my beautiful children, as the Blonde Bombshell and Miss Curly Mop are both safely ensconced at daycare.
In theory, this is my first day of work as a writer. In theory I am at liberty to do my homework, read books, write blogs, plan my novel and seek work experience. In theory I have a full, uninterrupted day to gather inspiration, nurture my craft and purge it into the void. I have been waiting for this day for months.
Unfortunately I had not counted on today being the first day that the builders need to access the inside of my house. It's one thing to have them crawling over the scaffolding and banging in the roof space. It's an entirely different matter to have them wandering through my living room and pausing to chat each time they walk past me at my computer.
I don't know how this 'working from home' thing is going to go while my 'office' is at the kitchen table and the room next door is ground zero for dust, noise and tradesmen's crack (aka builder's bum). However, if I plan on being a tortured writer (and what's the point of being a writer if you aren't tortured), I suppose having to deal with adversity and distraction (and dust) will only add to the pain and as a result, the finished product.