Probably not the most successful debut writing day in the history of literature. I've got a hangover and I lost a lot of money in a poker game last night. Not real money of course. Nobody at the 'big-boys table' (as Little Hannah christened it when I began to play there three years ago) can afford the stakes we play for, so we all chuck a cursory ten or twenty quid in and then rebuy with ious. I lost sixty six quid in ious last night. Fortunately, Kieron owed me forty five quid from an earlier game. Our game hasn't had a credit crunch yet. We all assume everybody is good for their debts. But I suspect that if we all called them in at the same time, our game would go the way of the economy.
I have a folder of Word documents dating back 10 years containing paragraphs like the one I wrote today. Opening lines of abandoned stories. Seeds of ideas that never take root. It can make for depressing reading. At the time of writing each one, I genuinely thought that they would grow into a publishable novel or story. But, to date, though some have become large. None have been completed. But that's about to change... (althogh probably very slowly)