For example, I was in the Doctors on Monday, and my sun was lying on the floor in the waiting room reading the manuscript and pointing out grammatical and logical errors (He's eight by the way - And he's forced more re-writes than anyone else in the history of history) and the Receptionist called out someone's name and I just automatically stood up and shouted 'But I'm writing a book!' and then went a bit red, and sat down, and then tried to crawl into the upholstery.
But it's not the first thing I've started to write. A long time ago I had the idea of writing a children's book. I only got as far as writing one page of A4, but maybe I could develop it. Let me know what you think.
It's about cats, maybe I'll just release it on the Internets, the Internets likes cats.
Mango yawned, the conservatory was warm and sunny and everything, but he couldn't shake the feeling that there was a draught coming from somewhere.
'Feeling that ghost draught again?' Said Clem. Clem was a full head taller than Mango and about a coat of varnish paler, but he was still a Ginger Tom and as such was due some respect.
'There nothing ghostly about it,' snapped Mango, 'One of the Talls must have forgotten to close a door somewhere, if they're not forgetting to close them, they're trying to shut my tail in them.'
Clem shook his head slowly and set about cleaning himself up, the long journey down from the top of the TV, along the bookshelf and onto the rocking chair was tiring and dusty at the best of times - and this particular spring afternoon was not one of those times.
Mango look accusingly at the doors, frowned, blinked and then settled back to sleep.
The Talls had been acting oddly all day; furniture had been moved, curtains had been taken down, the washing machine had been going all day and most important of all, every time either Mango or Clem had got comfortable on something, it had been snatched out from underneath them with a cry of 'CAT!'
Now, there was only so much of this behaviour that any tomcat worth his stripes should be expected to take, but it still came as a surprise to the tallest of the Talls when Mango bit his thumb when he tried to pitch him off a perfectly comfortable pile of cushions. They had both been relegated to the conservatory by the scruffs of their necks and they could tell by the scowl on the Tall's face that it might make sense not to argue.
Clem stared through the glass at the Talls as they busily moved things from one place to another. He couldn't understand why they always had to do so many things. Tomcat life was simple; You woke up in the morning, ate, washed, went for a brisk walk, scared some birds, came home, slept, ate some biscuits, slept, annoyed the dog and then slept until breakfast time. If you could fit in some extra sleeping, washing and eating, then that was even better, but there was certainly no moving of furniture, or making loud noises.
'Do you think they're making a nest?' wondered Clem out loud.
'Mmm?' mumbled Mango, not really paying attention.
'The Talls, they're moving everything around and cleaning it.'
'Why are you trying to work out what they're doing?' Mango was trying his best not to be interested, but was failing miserably.
'Because - I just noticed that your ball was under the sofa that they just moved.'
Mango was suddenly VERY interested. His ball, his wonderful, bouncy, difficult to chase ball! He'd lost it ages ago during one of his hunting experiments. He was trying to see how many times he could pounce on the ball, knock it across the room, catch it, bite it and bat it away again before it got away from him and went under the sofa.
Unfortunately, the answer was one.
And there you go, it's all I wrote. Later episodes would involve Saff, the vegetarian but ultimately dim dog, appearances by Enna, Fog and Pop the kittens - And if it were 'have legs' maybe Morty the tail-chasing Staffie.
Something to think about in the future.