Been toying with the idea for days now; MUST. LOOK. AT. NOVEL. You see I’d enjoyed the freedom of being in another land, a place where novels just weren’t important (finding your next meal is); Being at one with nature (stray dogs) and lazing in the sun (avoiding sun burn – yes, black people can burn in the sun!) But now I’m home, all I can do is stare at the drawer containing my masterpiece. Wonder what horrors are lurking within. Whether the pre – Africa me differed to how I am now. WHAT IF I NOW WANTED TO BIN THE FROTH AND GO FOR A MORE CULTURAL NOVEL? You know, something Ben Okrified or something.

It’s funny, when you tell your self you’re going to do something, you do everything in your power to avoid doing it. Yes, I am officially in protascanating hell. I‘m doing everything except writing. Oh, I think I’ll call Maddie (someone I haven’t called in months FOR A REASON). Oh, let me sweep under the bed, you have to be careful because lots of dust can accumulate without you knowing. This goes on for a good half hour before I finally plonk myself in front of the PC, and decide it needs a good old wipe. Then I can’t help noticing that the Eastenders omnibus has started and because I missed Tuesday’s episode, I just have to see it all or die. So nothing actually gets done today. Maybe tomorrow…

Tomorrow never comes, but the next day, I get down to it.

I’m a complete whiz, possessed by the need to ‘correct’ and improve my work. A line scrapped here, one more added there. And did I really write that line?

Luckily, I still like. The novel that is. And even though I've said this on numerous occasions, this is the final batch of correction I’ll be making to the first 3 chapters.