It’s an irony that my book, The Greatest Gift, is about time, the very commodity that evades me. I’m so busy with my full time work that I have limited time to write so do so mainly only on holiday.
In two weeks, I managed to set up the sequel, Drifting Sands, and write 6,000 words. At that rate I’ll need about 10 holidays or 3-4 years. In that time, not only will my readers have lost track of my story, I will too and constantly have to re-read what I’ve written to keep the continuity of a difficult time travelling plot. I guess this is the constant bain of a writer’s life unless they are full time.
Time, I can feel it slipping away. That’s why I’m writing about it I guess.