Addiction

My memoir is finished. Well, what I mean is that a much corrected draft has gone to Louse, my publisher, and she has accepted it. There will be much more writing, enlarging, deleting, correcting to be done. Some time next year you may get a chance to read true stories about me and my family instead of my fictional ones.

The trouble is writing had become an addiction for me. I’m never happier than when tapping on the laptop, stringing words into sentences and sentences into paragraphs. I thought I would be relieved to send off the memoir. Surely that’s the end?

But my fingers are still restless. And so is my brain.

Oh dear.