Novel Three Begins... (Oh, and still thumb twiddling.)

Holidays - Day One.

Time to get down to the real work then.

Yeah, I'm still waiting to hear some positive news about novel two but hey, that's the business eh? In the meantime I'm not being too sulky. I'm being quite productive actually.

I took advantage of my body deciding that, really, six in the morning is probably the best time to be up and about to get up and start writing. I've had DK on constant boil. I've almost worn the cuffs of my Magic Dressing Gown but I'm getting stuff sorted.

Already got myself through 2,500 words. A 1,000 of them actually before breakfast. Impressive no?

Anyway, on the off chance that anyone still reads this I thought I'd throw in a bit of a sneak peek. Although, thinking about it, as I'm still waiting to hear something from Novel Two it might be better to post bits of that... But I dunno.

Seems weird.

Maybe next time...

“Explain to me now, why shouldn't I just kill you all?”

A dozen faces, acne splatters, slack jaws, glazed eyes all crease. I stare at them and they stare back.

“Sir?” I look at Luis.

“Explain to me, Luis, why I shouldn't just kill you.”

Slack jaws. Glazed eyes. I sigh.

“You’re threatening to kill them now?” Jill sipped at her coffee. From outside come the screams of children. Something thuds against the window. “They been stealing your biscuits again?”

“Come on,” I say and begin to pace, long strides which carry me up and down the central aisle of the classroom. I waft my coffee at them. I breathe loudly through my teeth. “Why can’t I just decide: ‘Right, I’m killing you.’ Why can’t I do that?” A glass eye blinks. Plump lips curl into knots and foreheads crease. Some the front I hear breathing and something has unravelled.

“Because...” I pace back to the white board and spin, coffee slopping against my cup. I stare at a straining face, at the cratered nose and tufts of beard which cling to it’s chin. “Because...” I wait. I watch. The forehead creases, folds. He looks pained. I sigh. I roll my eyes. My fingers tap against my thigh.

And no, before anyone accuses me of stuff. It's not autobiographical. It just happens to have some similarities to my working day is all...